


Echoes (sing me a love song and i'll sing it right back to you)

by doreah



Series: Echoes [2]
Category: Skins (UK)
Genre: Alcohol, Cross-Generation Relationship, Explicit Language, F/F, Gen1/Gen2, Post-Series, multi-gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-10
Updated: 2013-01-09
Packaged: 2017-11-24 08:55:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 49,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/632645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doreah/pseuds/doreah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naomi's trying to make a new life in London with the Stonems but when a girl from Tony's past enters her world, old demons are drawn to the surface. A trip home to Bristol for Freddie's memorial further complicates the present situation as she is confronted with her past face to face. Post-series.</p>
<p>A sequel to 'Disintegration'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Nietzsche's Advice

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: The names of all characters contained here-in are the property of Skins, Company Pictures, & Channel4. No infringements of these copyrights are intended, and are used here without permission. Do not archive without permission.
> 
>  
> 
> "Both must give something, happiness, as precisely what is not exchangeable, not  
> open to complaint, but such giving is inseparable from taking. All is over if what one finds  
> for the other no longer reaches him. There is no love that is not an echo."  
> \- Theodor Adorno

 

 

The first time Naomi becomes aware of Michelle Richardson's actual existence, it's mid-afternoon on a lazy Saturday and some girl is talking rather loudly in Tony's bedroom. His flimsy wooden door doesn't work exceptionally well as a sound barrier and the female voice sounds alternately irritated and excited. Ever since breaking up with his last flavour of the month, Paige -a particularly insufferable twat of a girl- he's had random ladies over almost every night. She normally doesn't really pay much mind if Anthea and Effy don't, but the tone of this conversation has a much more distinctive air of familiarity to it and that makes Naomi more curious than usual. She doesn't realise she's stood outside the bedroom until Effy floats by, pauses beside the blonde for a moment and rolls her eyes.

"Michelle," she states and carries on towards the staircase, down to the sitting room. Naomi turns away and follows her friend, but keeps an ear on the conversation as long as she can. Effy slumps down on the settee and flicks through the television channels, turning up the volume when she settles on Channel4.

It's been this way for almost 2 years now. Maybe just over one and a half, really. After abandoning Emily at the airport in Bristol, Naomi had made her way straight to London and found Anthea Stonem to be far more accommodating than she had expected. With relief, Anthea had explained about leaving Bristol behind with its ugly memories, nosy neighbours, unscrupulous press and general gossip and how this hospital was specialized for their needs. Naomi found herself easily talking with the older woman. Within a week, she was offered a room in their new flat if she would pay room & board, and help take care of an ailing Effy whenever she was released from hospital. It was an offer Naomi couldn't refuse, especially since it was quite conveniently close to Goldsmiths where she was going to start her Honours BA in Politics and Sociology in a matter of weeks. It had turned out to be the perfect amount of time to settle into London life and her almost-adopted family. Needless to say, Gina hadn't been too fond of the situation at first but came around about two weeks into October, met Anthea and somewhat grudgingly accepted the detour that her daughter's life had taken.

A week before Effy had come home from hospital, Tony Stonem had bustled his way through the front door, dropped several heavy suitcases in the corridor and announced to Naomi that he was moving back in for his sister. The younger girl had just stared at him with a mixture of confusion and suspicion until real introductions had taken place. During the winter break of her first term, Tony and Anthea led a cautious and frail looking Effy through the doors of her new home. She had been shocked to see Naomi sprawled out on the sofa with lecture notes spread around her like massive confetti, as if she hadn't believed Naomi during her numerous visits to the institution. Naomi still remembers the smile that Effy gave her that day, and it made her certain that her choice had been the correct one.

They had spent hours together from that point onwards, most of it was Naomi speaking, drawling on about some fascinating subject or alternately, they'd sit in silence together. Tony especially had been instrumental in Effy's first stages of supposed recovery and she and him had shared the task of easing Effy through the darkest stages of her journey. It had been during that time that Naomi had wiped away more tears than she ever knew a human could produce. It broke her heart when Effy would cry like that. A hopeless, empty wail. But her heart would mend quickly as she went about comforting her friend, with a soft, grounding touch, a hug, a cup of tea. It was a skill she hadn't even realised she possessed. Even the Iron Queen Naomi Campbell, with her heart of stone, had something left to give, emerging to assist Anthea, Tony and Effy herself.

Now, in the last stages of the spring term of her second year, Naomi's comfortable. Finally. She looks over at Effy who is chewing a nail absently as she smiles at the TV, lost in its make-believe worlds. She's better now; not like the Effy she had met in college, not even close to be honest. But she's better. Doesn't speak much still. Anthea had explained one morning about Effy prior to Roundview, all these pieces of lost history that Naomi hadn't a clue about before. But she's almost Effy again and she spends her days doing a class at City and whatever else keeps her mind occupied. She's sober as well, which is an odd thing to see.

Anthea strolls into the room and glances at the television screen, turning away in disinterest. "Who's Tony with then?" she asks the girls. "She's quite loud." Naomi looks to Effy who smirks for some reason but says nothing.

"Michelle," Naomi says, but it comes out closer to a question. Anthea considers the name for a moment, before her face grows darker. There's something, some history there but the blonde daren't ask right now. She feels as if it's a sore subject. Tony apparently doesn't feel the same as a loud laugh of his bounces all the way over the sound of the TV.

"Oh. Well, that's a surprise," she mutters and glances up at the ceiling. "Blast from the past, isn't it, sweetheart?"

The young brunette shrugs non-committally at her mother's remark. Anthea shakes her head. "I just don't understand that boy," she sighs and wanders back into the kitchen to prepare some form of tea. As she does, there's the equivalent to a stampede as both Tony and Michelle come down the flight of stairs at a confusingly startling pace, her following him closely. Tony snatches the telly remote from his sister and flashes through channels until landing on something else that interests him more and plops himself in an armchair. The glare he receives is studiously ignored.

"Sit down, Nips. Tea'll be soon," Tony suggests in that way of his that implies that there is actually no other option. Naomi looks mildly disgusted at the term of supposed endearment Tony seems to have for whoever this bird is. Michelle, who is actually quite a strikingly attractive brunette, even if she seems a tad up herself, slinks down next to Naomi on the sofa with an oddly sad and submissive look on her face. The blonde shifts over and away instinctively, closer towards the chair Effy is in. She feels the air is heavy with something, laced with some sort of tension that can only come from shared history. Effy appears to be ignoring Michelle and her focus is strictly on the images onscreen. Naomi knows better however. Effy's listening even if she's not watching. She's always aware of everything.

When it becomes clear that Tony is not going to be a gentleman, Michelle shifts and turns to Naomi, extending her hand. "I'm Michelle. I don't think we've met," she says rather pleasantly, and with a recognisable Bristolian twang.

Naomi takes the offered greeting. "Naomi." Her smile is tight but she still finds herself holding the older girl's hand slightly longer than necessary. She's a little taken aback by the green in Michelle's eyes.

"She's our lodger, and Effy's mate," Tony supplies. "Moany." Naomi pins him with an unhappy glare. She's always hated Tony's name for her. Michelle folds her arms and leans back in the cushions with a small smile on her face as her attention darts between the two people. Tony shrugs off Naomi's displeasure. "Cos, you see, Naomi backwards is I moan, yeah? And she certainly does, thus, she's Moan-i." He grins to himself in an irritatingly self-satisfied way, as if his name for her is about the most brilliant idea in human history. Instead of laughing politely as most people do at Tony's lame putdowns, Michelle gives Naomi a blatant once-over, head to toe. There's something almost like pity there.

"You've got one of his horrible nicknames too, then?" she asks in a sort of concerned and friendly way, much to Naomi's surprise. She's part way through nodding in agreement when Tony sits up quickly.

"Yeah, Nips here, good one that too," he starts and gestures to Michelle as if he's about to let Naomi in on some amazing secret.

"Tony!"

This routine seems practised, too common. Tony ignores her protests. "Her tits, yeah. One is bigger than the other. And not in like pretend way but like legitimately so. Plus, she's got funny nipples, so she's Nips. It's a funny name." He looks so fucking pleased with himself that Naomi is actually utterly confused, mostly at what is so amazing and clever about that stupid nickname. Plus, the subject of Michelle's seemingly (from her vantage point anyway) perfect tits is throwing her off her game. Having to not so subtlety consider a stranger's breasts feels a little forward. But when it's brought up, she has to look and as she does, Michelle's arms fold up and together. Naomi doesn't think it's really necessary to be self-conscious cos her tits don't look odd in her opinion. And not in that tight, red vest especially. Naomi's cheeks flush pink though when she catches Michelle watching her and turns away quickly. It's not quick enough however to ignore the grin on Tony's face as he studies them.

"Watch out though," Tony continues, talking to Michelle this time. "She's a bit on the  _wild_  side. If you catch my drift." He taps the side of his nose and nods towards the younger girl.

Michelle rolls her eyes. "Well, I don't... and I don't care to, probably."

"Oh come on, she's a solitary gash grinder lost in the wild garden of Lesbos," he states, and adds with mock disdain, "I thought you went to  _York_." Her face darkens for a split second at the mention of university but it passes quickly. "Pick up on the subtleties, Chelle. Lettuce licker, bean-flicker. A whole veg and vag salad really."

Michelle, to her credit, looks aghast at the revelation. "Tony, what the fuck? That's not just something you blurt out to strangers about someone else." She doesn't seem affected in any other way though. No subtle shift away and for that Naomi is thankful, especially since not a minute ago she'd been caught staring at her tits. In all honesty, Naomi is impressed with this girl's attitude towards him. She's not the usual type of girl he brings home these days.

"Oh don't worry. Loud and proud, right, Moany?" He has the audacity to wink at her after outing her to stranger. It's not that she's concerned or ashamed; she just doesn't see why it needs to be a subject of conversation. She can't understand why Tony bothered bringing it up. Naomi glowers at him but says nothing, focussing again on the telly.

Michelle crosses one bare leg over the other, as Naomi catches out of the corner of her eye. "Whatever. Doesn't bother me. The gay thing," Michelle says airily. "I did date this  _boy_  once who really liked sucking our mate's cock whilst I was sleeping, in the same room." Naomi's eyes widen at this new information and she turns to gauge the truth of the story from the older boy's facial expression. He's finally a little thrown off. Michelle leans in a little closer to her but doesn't take her eyes off Tony. "I wasn't really asleep," she whispers loudly it like it's a hilarious secret and then sends Tony her own smug smile, one eyebrow cocked. "And he wasn't very good at it either."

Naomi likes this girl. Definitely. She's fiery, even if she is a little stuck-up. It's a nice change from all the dozy mares that usually parade around the flat in their tacky Hello Kitty knickers like they're still in uni halls.

Tony regains his poise fairly quickly after Michelle's assault on his ego however. "Yes, well, Sid tells me you've become quite the  _cunning linguist_  at uni," he says snidely to her, tossing another wink in Naomi's direction.

Again, a sharp bark from Michelle: "Tony! I'm not."

He shrugs and laughs. "What? It was your programme, yeah? Linguistics and some other poncey liberal Arts bollocks. You have a gift for tongues." It's slimy almost, the way he says it. Studying languages shouldn't be sleazy.

She shakes her head in disbelief but doesn't challenge him again. Naomi wonders, innocently of course, about the situation. She's curious, just as anyone else would be, she reasons. "So are you two..."

Both Michelle and Tony stare at her with similarly bemused expressions. Michelle shakes her head first.

"Christ no," she says plainly. She glances over at Tony, with a new and wistful sort of expression. "Just wasn't meant to last." He merely stares back at her. She shudders a little to shake herself out of something, some sort of memory. "Wanker."

Effy finally makes herself known by snorting, almost under her breath. Naomi can't decide if it's in agreement or if there's some tension between the two girls as well. Michelle gazes at the young brunette momentarily with an unreadable expression. She looks over at Naomi instead. "We're mates now, you know?"

But Naomi doesn't know. She truthfully thinks the idea is more than a little bizarre. She remembers Emily and can't imagine being  _just_  friends with her, now or ever. Of course, she doesn't tell Michelle or Tony this. She'll let them live in their little bubble of unlikely companionship. When Anthea calls them all in for tea, Naomi makes sure to take a seat close to Michelle. She's not sure why. She ignores Effy's curious stare.

Michelle doesn't come round for another week after that evening. Naomi's almost forgotten about her completely, assumed it was merely a short catching-up sort of visit and now Michelle's back wherever she came from. The only odd thing is that Tony hasn't brought anyone home since. There have been none of his playthings: those dull if incredibly sexy girls who are so easy to manipulate and toy with. The two events could be related or merely a coincidence. If Naomi was to hazard a guess, she'd suspect Tony has rediscovered, in Michelle, a challenge enough to hold his attention longer than normal.

 

 

 

* * *

The afternoon is warm, above seasonal really, for this time of year and Naomi is in the front garden, lazily pulling on her cigarette and watching the occasional car pass by. It's a quiet day. She hears Michelle before she sees her as heels echo against the pavement a few houses down. As Michelle comes into the garden, Naomi glances up, blowing out a long cloud of smoke. Unperturbed, Michelle approaches her but instead of heading directly for the front door, she pauses beside Naomi, who nods in an awkward Hello since she's not sure why the other girl has stopped.

"Naomi, yeah?" she asks.

Naomi nods again, flicks her cigarette ash to the side, and takes another drag. "Yeah."

Michelle looks around the area for a moment and comes back to the younger girl's face. "You shouldn't do that."

The blonde's eyebrows raise in surprise from the impromptu chiding. It doesn't seem like her place to be reprimanding Naomi for anything. They barely know each other, and this isn't Michelle's garden. And who the fuck cares if she smokes anyway? "Sorry?" Her tone is well annoyed.

Gesturing to the half-open window, Michelle continues, "None of them smoke anymore. You're a lodger. You should respect that. For Effy's sake, you know?"

_What the fuck?_ Naomi is completely taken aback at the situation. The audacity of some people. Maybe this bitch and Tony were perfect for each other. "I don't see you paying to stay here, so get stuffed," Naomi mutters with a sneer and takes an even longer drag than before. No, she doesn't like this girl anymore. It's settled. She doesn't know a thing about them at all, yet decides it's appropriate to lecture her on respect out of bloody nowhere.

Michelle doesn't seem to be terribly bothered by the retort. "Just making a suggestion. It's bad for you."

Naomi's eyes narrow. "Clearly," she says flippantly and turns her body away from Michelle slightly, putting the fag to her lips again.  _Bitch._ Michelle merely stares for a moment longer before making her way inside the flat. The door closes with a louder than usual slam. Naomi briefly considers the previous exchange and looks at the open window. Before inhaling again, she tosses the cigarette on the stone and squashes it with her toe. She doesn't go back indoors immediately however. She's not going to let Michelle think she's won. Cos she hasn't.

 

As she crosses the lounge, she sees Michelle and Tony sat on the sofa watching some stupid sounding programme. Effy is hovering between the kitchen and where they are. Naomi purposely huffs, rolls her eyes and ignores the two older people as she pushes past Effy a little rougher than she had intended. The brunette makes no complaint. She turns and watches Naomi carefully as she angrily scavenges around the cupboards for biscuits, tossing everything she doesn't want around the shelves. Effy takes a bite off a piece of licorice, and chews thoughtfully, unsure if Naomi recognises the presence studying her. Finally she speaks.

"Be careful."

Naomi whirls around, a packet of Jaffa Cakes in her hand and a scowl on her face. "Pardon?" Her tone is snippy and Effy merely looks at her impassively in response. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Effy shrugs, forces an incredibly fake smile –more like a grimace actually– and nods her head towards the direction of the sitting room where Tony's voice cuts through the rattle of the gun fight on-screen. She blinks slowly and waits for Naomi's understanding. It doesn't happen immediately, and Naomi's uncertain if she really does get the point, if she ever truly understood Effy's reasoning at any point during their friendship. She rolls her eyes again at Effy and pushes past her with an insolent, "Whatever, Eff."

Naomi's heavy footfalls fade as she stomps up the stairs and Effy jumps only slightly when there's a loud crack of a bedroom door slamming shut. She sighs at Naomi's apparent stupidity and joins her brother in the front room.

 

 

 

* * *

"We're going out."

Tony Stonem never seemed to need to ask anything ever. He just told people things, and on the rare occasion that he would ask a question, it always came out like he already knew the answer anyway. It was both irritating and somewhat admirable, in a sense. However, in this instance, it is the former. Naomi rolls over from where she'd been reading her Politics textbook and faces Tony standing in the doorway of her bedroom. In order to stall a little bit, she starts swiping cake crumbs off her duvet. She's still seething a little bit about her earlier run-in with Michelle, and seeing Tony's face just reminds her of it. There's not even a solid reason she can quite grasp about why the previous encounter caused her to become so angry. Normally she brushes off people when they're dicks like that. But not this time. It's wriggled uncomfortably under her skin, and that knowledge alone multiplies her irritation. She slaps her book closed heavily, and sighs in exasperation, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Have fun." She knows perfectly well that he'd meant that she was to come with.

He takes a step into her room, because to him privacy and personal space appear to be things only afforded to him when he wants, and other people have no right to them. She'd become accustomed to this sort of behaviour in the past year but it still managed to raise her heckles on occasion. He leans against her bureau suavely, crossing his arms and peering at her like some sort of school study project. "Nice one, Moany. You're coming too. No excuses." He pauses for some sort of ridiculous dramatic effect (just like his sister used to). "Me, you, Nips, Eff and the local."

Naomi rolls her eyes. "Sounds tempting but I pass. I've loads of coursework."

It doesn't take long for the older boy to cross the room, snatch up her textbook and flip it into a corner. Grabbing her arm rather brutishly, he yanks her up from her bed and out into the corridor. "See, now you're out of your room. First step. Why not join us?"

There it is: that question that isn't really a question because he knows she can't say no now. Excuses are useless against a Stonem.

"Tosser."

He gives her a toothy, Cheshire grin.

 

 

 

* * *

6 pints and 3 shots later, Naomi's feeling fuzzy. Effy's sipping her water, obviously completely bored whilst Michelle and Tony are chuckling about something only they care about and pounding back vodka shots. It's like the worst reunion ever. All they need is some sort of pervy old uncle to show up and the picture would be complete. Effy seems to be fidgeting more than usual, and Naomi's not sure if it's because they're at the pub with all its rank alcohol stench, or if it's the less than ideal company. She does truly admire Effy's resolve in situations like these, especially since she's so rarely allowed to come to the pub without Anthea chaperoning like an overprotective hawk, no doubt over-compensating for years of neglect. Tony's spouting off some rubbish about something irrelevant when Naomi sees Michelle turn quickly to glance at her, almost questioningly. Naomi has no bloody idea why so she sips her nearly empty lager and merely raises an eyebrow in response.  _Fuck off, you posh slag,_  she wants to say but ends up drinking more instead. Effy's squirming a little again but seems to straighten herself up just as Michelle looks over towards her. Tony is uncharacteristically oblivious during all this. The blonde looks over at Effy who is just smiling to herself and gazing off at the wall.

These fucking people. It's like living in a bloody German art film sometimes. She thinks she knows what's happening but everything is off-balance and shadowy; it's grainy and random shit just seems to occur for no reason at all. Just fucking great.

It doesn't become any easier to understand for the rest of night. By the time they leave the local, Michelle is one headfucking sideways gaze away from making Naomi explode with confusion and she's pretty fucking certain Tony is actually positively shit-faced. He stumbles in a way that an otherwise sober Tony Stonem would abhor. Effy's being used as a human walking stick, and Naomi giggles to herself a little with that idea; Effy's spindly body holding the weight of her brother. Naomi doesn't even realise how second nature it really is for them. It's a good thing that the younger girl doesn't seem to mind in the least. She's walking with a bemused sort of look on her face, occasionally stopping to yank her mashed brother along. Michelle, quite sauced herself, trips up a few times which only provokes an eyeroll from Naomi.

They all stumble into the flat creating as much noise as possible. The basement tenants will probably complain in the morning, but for now it's too hilarious to really be concerned with. They're laughing and bumping into things –well, Tony is– and whatever tension seemed to be hanging over the lot of them earlier has dissipated. Effy wrestles with her brother as he attempts to clumsily climb the stairs. They're making quite a racket, but it seems to be working. Naomi grins, leaves them to it and heads into the kitchen for a glass of water. She can hear the thumping above as Tony clambers into bed. When she walks through the lounge, Michelle is standing there, swaying possibly but Naomi can't really tell if that's her perception or reality. She attempts to ignore the other girl because tension or not, she's not very fond of her really. Not anymore. Not even when she's this drunk.

Not when she looks so deliciously shaggable.

_Fuck._

_Fucking vodka._

Naomi averts her eyes and walks quickly, splashing some of her hard-earned water over the rim of her glass in the process. She's stopped in her tracks however by a voice.

"Naomi?"

The blonde stops and turns with a drunken sort of flourish, but there's no friendliness present. "That's me."

"Think I could grab a pillow and blanket from you? For the sofa here."

Right. The older girl had no place to kip. Oh well, the sofa would do her fine but Naomi's a little perturbed that taking care of Tony's guest has become her responsibility. She sighs, as if the offer is putting her out a great deal. "Come on, then," she groans, and waits for Michelle to follow her up the stairs.

She throws open her bedroom door dramatically for no particular reason other than it seems like the thing to do.  _Welcome to my humble abode!_  she thinks and drunkenly chuckles to herself as Michelle steps in hesitantly after her. She takes a large gulp of water before placing it extra-carefully down on her nightstand. When she turns around, Michelle is still standing there, looking a little lost actually. Her vest top is hanging off her shoulder, as is her bra strap, Naomi notices. It's such a little thing, but for someone as impeccably put together as she appeared to be, it was kind of... enticing. Naomi shakes her head a little to clear away the foggy thoughts that are straying even further into dangerous territory. It's useless, she reckons cos suddenly she's thinking about "Nips" and Tony's assertion about one breast being bigger than the other. She stares for likely what is far more than polite.

She expects Michelle to cross her arms self-consciously again, like the last time. But when Naomi finally does meet her eyes, they're darker hazel than she remembers, almost green and a little curious, if slightly glazed from drink. More than a little curious actually. Michelle is watching her like a fucking hawk.

_Shit, shit, fucking bollocky fuck shit. You don't like the stuck-up mingebag, remember?_

She clears her throat quickly. "Need some pyjamas?" she inquires in the calmest, coolest voice she can muster under the circumstances. Just a little sozzled. Michelle merely nods in affirmation. Naomi gathers a blanket, pillow and and old pair of joggers, bundles them together and hands them over. She reaches out to put a hand on the door, to close it after Michelle leaves but it never happens. Instead she closes the door while Michelle is still standing in her room. Fuck, she  _wants_  her. She can't really explain exactly why she is making such a monumentally stupid decision; maybe it's the alcohol, or the fact she really just wants to get laid, or it's just unalterable mental dysfunction. Mad cow, maybe? Whatever it is, she doesn't have time to dwell because as soon as she comes close enough, Michelle has planted her lips on Naomi's. Yeah, she's just pulled her best mate's brother's girlfriend, or whatever the fuck Michelle is these days.  _Well done, Naomikins, you filthy twit_.

It's strangely hesitant for a drunken snog. It barely lasts 5 seconds, not that anyone is counting of course. Naomi licks her lips without thinking as the liquor swirls in her bloodstream, fuzzying her senses and insisting that all her ideas are good ideas. She'll later find out that's not the case, but for now it seems as good a justification as any. She leans back in, but is met with the same hesitation once more, like Michelle is testing her, or herself. Either one. It's too much effort to develop theories about motivations so Naomi drops the pillow and blankets, grabs the older girl around the back of the head and pulls her in, stronger this time.

She'd forgotten what it's like to kiss a girl who isn't just some completely random stranger. She's  _almost_ a stranger, but a different kind. It's not the same when the other person isn't solely focussed on getting off, as quickly as possible as was the case in most club encounters, not that even those were a common occurrence. And Michelle is a surprisingly good kisser. She hadn't really expected that. If all follows this plan, it could be a very good night indeed. Slowly the kisses build, become more sure. Confident. And Naomi can feel soft hands on her waist, pulling a little bit desperately. A tongue jutting past her lips sends a warm sensation down her spine.

Tugging as she stumbles backwards to where she knows her bed is, there's another moment of hesitation, but this time not from the brunette. Almost like a reminder of something. It passes quickly and Naomi finds herself now easing Michelle back on her mattress as if it were a completely common occurrence for her to just shag strange girls in her bed. (It's not common, not at all. She doesn't like bringing them home. Not to wake up with them there, or having Effy boring holes into her the next morning over breakfast.) Michelle's breath is coming faster, shallower, their kisses a little more insistent. Demanding. Maybe Tony was right about what Sid said. Maybe Michelle is more than okay with the 'gay thing', as she had put it. Then Michelle looks at her, almost as if she's begging Naomi to like her. Pleading silently. But that could just be tricks of the liquor.

It seems like there's some blur in time because Naomi doesn't realise until after the fact that they're both down to their scuds and doing some serious, full-on snogging. It's become rather intense without her knowledge. And Michelle is quite the willing participant. Talented and enthusiastic: the best combination. Naomi senses slender fingers sliding through her hair as she sucks on a tender spot on Michelle's neck; she can feel the heave of her breathing under her own body. Michelle gasps as Naomi slips a hand up under her bra. In a second, she feels tentative fingers slip into her damp knickers and brush over her clit in response. She swears she hears Michelle whisper "Not my first time," in between breathy moans and sighs, but it could just be her inebriated (and wishful) imagination. She sucks in a sharp breath through her teeth, her eyes scrunching shut momentarily, savouring even the simplest, clumsiest contact.

_Fucking Christ._  Why can't all of Tony's girlfriends be like this? With new vigour, she eagerly pulls off the black bra in her way, and feels the undulating writhe of the older girl beneath her. Yes, definitely a good night.

 

 

 

* * *

The next day brings a throbbing headache and massive confusion. Tentatively opening her eyes to the harsh sunlight of mid-morning, she only sees a tangle of brown curls.  _Shit, shit._  Not a good night. Not at all. The events come rushing back a little too forcefully and she clenches her eyes shut to will them away. Maybe this part is a dream too. Her hand is warm, and she realises that they're not simply sharing a bed, she & Michelle are sleeping together. (An important distinction, in her opinion). She pulls her hand back from where it had been softly grasping the curve of the other girl's bare waist. Christ, they're practically spooning. It's soppy and stupid and Naomi chides herself for whatever mental breakdown caused all of this. This isn't bloody normal behaviour for her.

This is Michelle.  _Tony's_  Michelle. Fucking great. She'd managed to cop off with his ex, or current, girlfriend. It doesn't seem to matter which it actually is. The sentiment is all the same.

A stealthy escape is the best option, she reckons. Maybe it'll be like it never happened. Maybe she won't remember if Naomi isn't there too; they were drunk after all. The blonde slips slowly and carefully out of bed. Naked. She's not sure her morning could realistically get any worse. She manages to barely pull on her pants before there's stirring in the bundled duvet on her bed. Like a deer frozen in headlights, she just stares, a little terrified, a little wide-eyed at the girl in her bed. Michelle sits up, far more alert (and pretty) than Naomi had anticipated. It catches her off-guard, makes her question her aversion to this, for a moment more before she hardens.

"Where are you going?" The question is asked softly, but intensely, as if Naomi's early morning escape was not expected.

_Seriously?_ Naomi's not sure whether it would be appropriate to scoff as loudly as she'd like to at the question. So much for what her first grade tutor had told her about there being no such thing as a stupid question, only stupid answers. "Toilet." It's the opposite of romantic, or even alluring, that's for damn sure. Good. Michelle looks down, as if she's coming to understand the reality of the situation they're in. Naomi sighs, covers her arms over her chest. The blonde has to force herself to ignore how good this girl looks in her bed in the morning glow. It doesn't help issues in any fucking way. If it wasn't such a bloody shit-show, this may have been something worth pursuing. But it's a right mess and Naomi wants no part in the complications. "Look, it was stupid. We were cabbaged, yeah? Just a one-off, okay?" She turn away and reaches for her bra and pulls it on. "A stupid mistake," she mutters quietly, but she's admonishing herself more than Michelle. "It's done."

She waits. There's no response from Michelle and Naomi's not stupid. She can tell Michelle's been around the block a few times. Anyone who's put up with Tony Stonem needs to have a few tools in their belt. This can't possibly be a novel experience. Finally, she glances over and watches as Michelle pulls the duvet closer to her chest, as if holding onto a teddy bear. Those hazel eyes latch onto hers.

"Why – was it me?"

_Oh, for fucks sake_. Where did this insecure, timid little creature come from? She certainly hadn't been around yesterday when she was snipping about Naomi's nicotine habit or desperately shoving her tongue down her throat. Naomi Campbell doesn't much care for lying. She is rather talented at it, but she doesn't enjoy it. Not when she knows it's untrue, at least. When she can't pretend it's true. In all honesty, Michelle, though an excellent kisser had obviously been a novice, if not complete beginner, in bed with another girl. It shouldn't be a bad thing cos Naomi is well aware that she too had been there once. And, well, in the end, yes, she had got off with a little subtle nudging despite the brunette's inexperience. But it was just drunken fucking. Sloppy, clumsy and mediocre. Hardly a stand-out performance, regardless of how much Michelle had seemed to enjoy herself.

Naomi presses her lips together and stares, trying to formulate some answer that says none of that. It must come across in her face however, because she can hear the shuddery intake of breath. Michelle doesn't appear to be crushed exactly, but she's certainly affected. It makes Naomi feel like a total cad. If she had been a better person, she would have admitted it's not about the quality of the sex at all. It's about all that other shite that comes along with it. She wants simple now, and relationships –of any kind– are anything but. Instead, she coldly mumbles, "We both got off, yeah? It's fine."

Nothing is  _fine_  though. The comment doesn't make any appreciable impact on the brunette. She's still sitting there, looking something between irritated and gutted. Without glancing in her direction again, the younger girl quickly pulls on a t-shirt and joggers and leaves the room. It feels all too familiar.

 

 

Around the breakfast table, Michelle prods at her bowl of Corn Flakes with an obvious lack of interest. Naomi sits across and tries to swallow what seems like the driest, most disgusting toast in the world. It's almost like a subconscious attempt to scrape the taste of Michelle off her tongue. (It's not exactly working however.) Tony's still passed out upstairs, with his head in a bucket presumably. But the silent spectre of Effy is drinking coffee and hungrily devouring her crumpet whilst trying not to stare too long at either of the girls. They're all startled out of the heavy blanket of silence by Anthea arriving in the kitchen and clanging mugs about. "All right, girls?" she asks, cheerily. Effy smirks as her gaze bounces back and forth between her friends.

"Yeah, thanks," Michelle mutters, staring intently at her cereal bowl, still only nibbling. Naomi finds herself staring at Michelle as well.

Anthea pours herself a mug of tea, and leans against the countertop. It's the last thing Naomi wants: a trivial morning-after conversation with clueless Anthea. "Tony's a bit ill, isn't he?" she asks with a chuckle and takes a sip of her drink. "Serves him right. Not so young anymore. But it sounded like you lot had fun. Nice change to get out and about."

She may as well be having the conversation with the kitchen sink for all the participation of the younger girls. However, it doesn't bother Anthea. "You found a place to pass out all right, Michelle? I meant to leave out some bedding. Not really used to having guests that aren't staying with Tony these days."

Effy winces but Michelle seems to ignore the latter part of the comment, as she's doing with most things right now. "Yeah," Michelle agrees and looks directly at Naomi who stares back, a flash of warning –or maybe fear– courses through her body momentarily. "I convinced Naomi to share." The words come out incredibly controlled. No hint of anything else, unless of course Anthea had been paying attention to their faces. Which she wasn't, of course. She had been more interested in adding more sugar into her tea. Effy, however, well, nothing slips past Effy anymore.

Anthea's pushing two slices of brown bread into the toaster. "Oh good on you! She's a bit of a stingy one," the older woman laughs, oblivious to the silent conversation happening around the table. "Aren't you, Naomi?"

"I guess," she admits and finally breaks eye contact. It doesn't feel right. It hadn't meant anything. It was just a drunk shag. She doesn't understand why Michelle's taking it so bloody personally. And she certainly can't fathom why they need to be bitter enemies about it. It happened, it's over, whatever. There's no point in admitting that she realises that it obviously meant something different to Michelle. Anthea laughs lightly and floats off into the sitting room to turn on some cooking show that she'll never have any use for. There's the briefest of moments where she wishes her mum was there instead of Anthea. She would have done something, cleared the air even. Instead Naomi has Effy, who seems far more amused watching the spectacle than interested in pushing to a resolution. Groaning in irritation, Naomi pushes back her chair with a loud scrape that rattles her already tender brain and flounces out of the kitchen.

When she reaches her bedroom and closes the door, she realises it still smells like Michelle everywhere and her stomach does a somersault. And not in a bad way.  _Shit._

* * *

It doesn't come as surprise that after that morning, Michelle stops coming round to the Stonems.

There's no doubt she's still in Tony's life because he mentions her at the supper table every so often, talks about where they hang out that day or whatever other boring-arse rubbish they get up to. All in all, it sounds rather bland, especially for Tony. The only time she perks up during any of these conversations is when he remarks on Michelle staying with her aunt for an extra month or so. Anthea of course questions him intensely about the status of their relationship and Tony has to adamantly protest when she alludes to it being more than friendship. Regardless of his words, the whole situation would imply otherwise and it grates on Naomi for some reason. As she and Effy are clearing the dishes in dutiful silence, the younger girl sidles up close beside her.

"Told you to be careful," she whispers and then moves away before Naomi has a chance to really respond. As a result, she merely shakes her head.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Naomi says with resistance. It falls flat when she meets Effy's knowing blue eyes penetrating her own. "Christ, Eff."

"You're welcome," the brunette smirks.

And then she's gone, left the room without another cryptic word.

 

 

 

 

* * *

The next day, as if Effy's waved her magic wand, Naomi comes home from the library to see Tony and Michelle sitting together on the sofa. The lazy gits never do anything fun. Just sit around watching DVDs and nattering with each other like birds. It's well boring, and even more perplexing.

"You'll like this one, Moany." Tony states, and points to the DVD case on the table. "Real deep stuff, isn't it, Nips?" He slides an arm around her shoulders and pulls her in.

"Piss off, Tony," she grumbles and pushes against his chest and Naomi is all too aware that Michelle won't meet her gaze. Giving up, she takes a peek at the box. The film seems to be something about sharks or something and she feels an invisible tug to take a seat with them, if only to appease her curiousity.

"Chelle here has already cried twice," he announces with a derisive laugh and ruffles her hair. It truthfully seems quite brotherly and Naomi grimaces as she watches them both. Still, there's a dirty, heavy sort of feeling pooling in her chest, hot and tight and not very comfortable at all. It so strikingly similar to times with Emily, with JJ, with all of that. It's a disgusting sort of jealously, just illogical and oozing through her bloodstream. The feeling makes her either want to punch something or throw up. She takes a deep breath and tries to focus on something besides the dizziness swirling in her brain. It's fucking disorienting, this sudden influx of emotions that she knows very well she shouldn't be having. Not for someone so meaningless in her life. She shakes off the urge to join them rather easily now.

She finally shrugs. "Whatever." Nice one, Naomi. Brilliant. She turns her back on the supposed non-couple and wanders to her bedroom.

They're both twats anyway.

 

 

Unfortunately, her escape is only momentary. Michelle doesn't leave after the film ends and when Naomi wanders downstairs, following the aroma of supper, she's met with all the Stonems and the older girl lounging around the kitchen. Effy's sitting disinterested and silent at the table, patiently waiting for her plate that Anthea is serving out at the moment. Both Michelle and Tony are leaning against the cupboards, chatting to Anthea as she works. Naomi catches Effy's stare and is met with a dispassionate eyeroll from her friend. It's good to know that she's not alone in her irritation. She sidles up to Anthea, plucking a supper plate from the shelf and starts serving herself, trying to ignore the chatter and block Tony and his girlfriend from her peripheral vision. It almost works. That is, until she grabs some cutlery and is on her way out of the room with her food, back to the sanctuary of her bedroom.

"Ah, ah," Anthea calls out. "Naomi, sit down."

It's times like these that Naomi strongly wants to remind Anthea that despite how it may appear, she's not actually one of her children and should be given the freedom that comes with paying rent. But instead of making a scene, her shoulders sag and she concedes defeat, taking a seat at the end of a table, perpendicular to Effy. She's pretty certain that all the Stonems are against her, forcing her to relate to Michelle when it's obvious she wants nothing to do with her. Anthea slides Effy's plate over to her and the brunette gazes at it impassively, picking up her fork with mechanical precision, almost robotic. Her eyes belay a very strong awareness however. Naomi picks at her broccoli and tries not to glance up. Every time she does, her gaze automatically falls on Michelle. Out of everything in the room, her interest seems to be immediately and automatically drawn there.

As the older brunette is standing beside Anthea serving herself some veg, Naomi's eyes rake over shape of toned legs, the dip of her waist, travelling down to slender fingers and Naomi's momentarily captivated. Her skin grows warm at the memory of those hands on her body, those legs naked and wrapped around her own. Her cheeks flush of their own accord and it's only when there's a quiet chortle from somewhere on her left that she briskly snaps out of it. Her head twists around sharply to stare at Effy in annoyance and all she sees is a stupid knowing smirk on her face.

"Shut up," she whispers fiercely and Effy merely grins to herself and takes a sip of water, shaking her head. Embarrassed at being caught out, the blonde spears some lettuce a little too aggressively and the fork scrapes loudly against the plate, screeching. It makes everyone turn and focus on Naomi. She shrugs indifferently and tries to ignore all the eyes on her, making her face flush again. Effy thinks she's so fucking clever. She's not. She's just a pain in the ass. Naomi chews on her salad with a very definite frown, cutting her eyes at her friend every so often.

Still, she can't stop the memories, the almost real, tactual feeling of that stupid, drunken night. Tony takes a seat to her right and Michelle on his right, as if he's a referee of some sort. Anthea heads the table at the other end and now they're discussing some useless topic. Probably poxy gardening or Big Brother or frivolous budgetary spending by the borough. Naomi can't be bothered listening; she's too focussed on  _not_  looking up,  _not_  glancing in Michelle's direction. The whole exercise is irritating and exhausting. Grabbing for her glass of water is a mistake. Inevitably she can see Michelle and she tries not to notice that the brunette is staring at her this time. Like, full on staring. When Naomi meets her eyes, the older girl holds her gaze for a moment, and she seems sad really. But the moment passes quickly and dissipates into thin air as if it had been purely imagined. Still, she  _feels_  it. It lingers around them and throughout the meal it happens more than once. Three times she's caught actually. Three. Each time just binds her more snugly in the persistent, tingling feeling, like a noose slowly being tightened.

Naomi clears her plate rather hurriedly and almost races from the room, back to the quiet safety of her solitary bedroom. The rest of her evening is a write-off. Her coursework ends up looking like a monkey shat on her notebook; completely useless. The resentment boils in the pit of her stomach, yet she can't stop thinking about the way Michelle had been looking at her. She tries to push the thoughts aside unsuccessfully. Eventually she gives up with a huff, roughly pushes her textbooks away and promises to work harder tomorrow. She flicks on her laptop, pops in a DVD and tries not think about the plague of uncertainties and possibilities bombarding her mixed-up mind.

 

 

 

* * *

" _More broadly, this is apparently an antihedonistic morality, directing us to aspirations deemed higher than the gratification of primal impulses and, to that end, mandating the control of sexual appetites or pleasures. In this sense it is an ethic of self-restraint (distinguished from, as we may put it, an ethos of personal liberation and self-expression)._

_Hence our traditional ethic of decency, when pressed for its implications, can be seen as reflecting or representing two fundamental desiderata: **self-control** and a kind of  **civility**."_

Naomi groans to herself and snaps her text closed. Stupid fucking arseholes. She normally finds this sort of reading fascinating, hence her reason for taking this summer course but at the moment she has other things on her mind that won't leave her be.

Like bloody Michelle Richardson: someone who, for all intents and purposes, is completely irrelevant to her life yet causes wave after wave of unwanted emotions and caustic memories to surface. Confusion tops the list. But there's that irritating voice in her head that echoes Effy and tells her to be careful. It's the same voice that often reminds her that she'll probably never be able to love anyone again. She's sort of convinced that either she's incapable of it, or alternately, she just incapable of loving anyone except Emily, even after all these years. It's terrifying and depressing and too much to consider most days. And since Michelle's pranced into her life, there are constant reminders about her old life, feelings that are both familiar and foreign. Now she can't get the sodding bitch out of her mind. She hasn't actually been back since the evening Naomi found her and Tony all cuddled up on the sofa watching that documentary, which Naomi has to grudgingly admit was excellent, if completely depressing. She pulls the earbuds from her ears cos this music certainly isn't helping matters. It's too thinky and grainy and staticky. Too much like her mind.

The library is too quiet, this study room even more so. Every so often there's a shuffle of papers, a click of a biro, a throat clearing self-consciously. It's bullshit. Pretentious, wanky bullshit full of spazzes and geeks. She peers down at her notes, trying to gauge if they even make any sense. It doesn't appear that they do. A short, tentative tap on the window draws her attention. Other students appear to be too wrapped in their own studies to notice much. Looking for any distraction however, she turns to the noise. What she sees causes her heart to pump furiously and she's a little dumbfounded.

A certain curly-haired brunette with terribly green eyes is standing on the other side of the glass. Just  _waiting_. It takes a moment for Naomi's muscles to respond and she slowly begins packing her things into her satchel, almost like on auto-pilot. She can't seem to focus on anything at all and the menial task provides some semblance of regularity, of self-control. Even if that concept is the furthest thing from her grasp right now. She manages to miraculously make it to the door, work the latch without embarrassing herself and slip out quietly. Michelle spins around at the sound of the door closing.

She looks nervous and immediately Naomi fears something has happened to the Stonems. So, in addition to her rapidly beating heart, she begins to tremble just a little.  _Please, not Effy_. They would have rang, wouldn't they? Anthea would have. Unless it was all of them... But then how would Michelle know? Jesus fucking Christ. She's about to explode if Michelle doesn't give some hint as to what the hell is going on. Or why she's showing off most of her damn hot pink bra in that top. It's unfair. She's  _stunning_. Still. And it pisses Naomi right off.

"We need to talk," is all she says and it's positively infuriating how collected she sounds. No hint.

"About?"

"Us."

Naomi immediately relaxes and let's out a disbelieving scoff, her eyebrow quirking in incredulity. "There isn't an 'us', Michelle," she sighs and begins to walk away. She's pretty sure they've both made that equally clear these past few weeks but Michelle obviously doesn't like giving up so easily. Her hand reaches out and grabs ahold of Naomi's shirt near the waist and pulls her back. Naomi insolently tugs it from her grasp but stops in her tracks. "What part of one-off don't you get?" She's feeling annoyed by the sudden bombardment of  _meaning_  everywhere. Why does everything always have to become such a fucking issue, rife with consequence and importance? She knew there was a reason she preferred those quick shags in club toilets as opposed to... whatever  _this_ is. And how the hell did Michelle know where she was revising anyway? See. Too many fucking complications and questions.

"Fine, okay, it was nothing." There's a fierceness in her tone that causes Naomi to pause momentarily and consider the possibility that the lie is true. "But it's obviously upsetting you."

Ridiculous. Absolute insanity. "Where do you get off–," Naomi starts but is interrupted by Michelle's presence incredibly close. She half-expects there to be a fist cocked and threatening her. Nothing like that happens. The brunette merely stands, hands by her sides, twirling the fabric of her blue vest top in her fingers.

"Why did you start it in the pub that night?"

Naomi finds it comforting somehow to realise that she genuinely doesn't understand the question. It's not that she's just pretending, or avoiding it, or over-thinking it. The question simply doesn't make sense. "What?"

Michelle gestures to her feet with a wave. "The feet thing. Footsie. Why bother then?"

"I don't know what..." she trails off with a dawning understanding. Fucking Effy Stonem. She recalls the squirming of her best mate; the curious, cheeky, come-hither looks from Michelle. It's coming together. The whole time seems now like it was some messed up social experiment brought on by the girl she thought was her best friend. "That wasn't– Nips, look–." The second the nickname escapes from her mouth, she knows it's the worst move possible. Michelle's spine stiffens with anger.

"Don't  _ever_ call me that. I  _hate_  that name."

"Tony can–."

"You're not Tony!" She pauses and something akin to anguish washes over her features. It appears as if the name actually physically hurts her. "I can't control him. He doesn't, I mean, can you just respect-  _Christ_. Please, just don't?" The last question comes out almost desperately and there's an odd wave of guilt through Naomi's body. There's something deeper that she's not privy to about Michelle and Tony's relationship. It's dark, that's all she senses. She doesn't want to hurt this girl. Not now. She nods in acceptance. The misunderstanding, or more correctly, the deception about the flirty games in the pub seems trivial now. She'll let Michelle think it was her. It's fine. She maybe would have done it herself if she'd had the sense and bollocks any way.

"Look, I fancy you, Naomi," Michelle implores hastily. She lifts her gaze to the ceiling and sighs, almost laughing in disbelief. "And it makes no bloody sense to me. You got me off." She says the last sentence with some sort of reverence, as if it's a difficult task. Then she meets Naomi's stare. "I think you fancy me too." Almost a wink. Smarmy at best. It's so sudden, all of this. Naomi feels suddenly flustered and wobbly. This girl has a way of disarming her with blunt honesty, in much the same way Emily had done with integrity and pure sincerity. She tries to recover her bravado, but feels like it's truly an inadequate weapon against Michelle. She's insistent in a way Naomi had forgotten, in way she hasn't seen since Emily.

The blonde lets out a short laugh. "You're wrong." She doesn't have much chance of continuing her train of thought because Michelle's lips are on hers, and they're so fucking soft and... _good_. She can't help but kiss back.  _Intoxicating_  perhaps is a better descriptor, cos Naomi can't exactly formulate proper thoughts; she just wants  _more_. It's Michelle who pulls back first.

"Am I?"

Oh.

Naomi looks down with a smile on her face. She can at least admit when she's been bested, especially if it comes in the form of some fit as fuck girl snogging her. There are niggling doubts though. Echoes of an unhappy, unsuccessful past. The running, the lying, the pain, the year of resentment and bitterness, the way that even despite best intentions, it had fallen spectacularly apart. It's all about Emily suddenly. It worms inside whatever pleasant feelings she'd momentarily experienced. This needs to stop before it gets out of hand.

Naomi takes a deep breath and focuses intently on the girl in front of her. "I'm not into experiments. I'm not here for you to play with and then toss aside."

Michelle is taken aback by the insinuation apparently. "You really think that? Quite honestly, Naomi, if I wanted a bit of fluff, I wouldn't have chosen you. You're hardly low maintenance. I only met you a few weeks ago and I know that already." Her gaze is hard and serious, but she's obviously exasperated. "For some completely barmy reason that I can't even begin to understand,  _I_   _fancy_   _you_ , okay? Can't things ever be simple?"

Naomi's blue eyes widen in shock at the familiar statement. It always seems so much easier when other people say it. The truth spews forth without reservation. "I'm a shit, shit in relationships." It terrifies Naomi to admit but it may work to dissuade the other girl and that's worth the fear.

Unexpectedly, Michelle breaks into a gentle, coaxing smile. "Whatever. I was with Tony for  _years_ , yeah?" It's probably supposed to be reassuring. It isn't. "You can't be any worse."

_Worse?_  Naomi's struck with the image of Emily's crumpled, heart-broken face when she left her at the airport that final time. How little Michelle knows. The older girl slides her hands into her back pockets and kind of bounces ahead, moving backwards with a grin. "So you going to take me back to yours now?"

Naomi's throat is dry, but her heart is beating faster.

It's taken weeks but her charade has finally fallen apart. It hadn't been the vodka. It had been Michelle all along.

 

 

 

* * *

If Tony notices anything, he doesn't say. Not even after Michelle spends the night one particularly rainy evening midweek, in Naomi's bedroom with the stereo on and door shut tightly until breakfast. Effy however keeps staring in that obnoxious way of hers and Naomi feels like she's still part of a science experiment, like they all exist in a Petri dish that Effy occasionally pokes and prods when she feels like having some fun. Considering she's the youngest out of all of them, it's all rather backwards. But, to be honest, she's getting laid by a beautiful girl so it can't be that bad. She should maybe thank Effy if anything. Tony doesn't even try to make any snide remarks when Michelle squeezes in between he and Naomi on the sofa one evening, obviously closer to the blonde. He quirks an eyebrow. That's all. Despite evidence to the contrary, Naomi can't help feeling that Tony's planning something. It makes her skin crawl occasionally and forces her to break whatever innocuous contact she has with Michelle at any given time when he looks at them in  _that_ way. Or when he goes out of his way to touch Michelle in front of Naomi in an overly-familiar way. He knows; he must. Because that sly look on his face makes her uncomfortable and why else would it? She has to trust her instincts sometime.

The fact is, Tony Stonem is as good at keeping secrets as his sister.

It's not that is a _secret_ , though. At least not on purpose. She's not going out of her way to delude the Stonems (okay, perhaps Anthea, if she's being fair). It's just that, well, it's not anything definable. It just is, her and Michelle. They're just taking things as they go, and for a girl like Michelle, she doesn't even have to tell Naomi about it cos Naomi's been there once before: uncertain of what everything means, to herself, to other people, if it means anything at all. They choose not to discuss the intricacies of their relationship, the criteria, the consequence. Shoving it into some rigid box at this point feels like pushing things too quickly. It may be more than a rather compatible friends-with-benefits scenario, but what exactly that is escapes them both at the moment. So, the issue lays dormant, yet lingers in the air around them in moments of silence.

 

 

Only after Tony and Effy walk through the front door after going to Effy's psychiatry appointment and find Michelle straddling the blonde on the sofa does it become difficult. Michelle scrambles quickly off and wipes her mouth with her hand, glancing apologetically at the siblings, as if she has something to be ashamed about. Stupid girl. It was just snogging. There's something unsettling about Michelle's reaction though and Naomi can't quite figure it out. So she merely stares, half-expectantly, half-annoyed at the brother and sister duo in the front hall.

Tony puts on his best sociopathic smile. "Well, that's quite a new development, isn't it, Starbuck?" His tone is eerily flat as he addresses his sister without taking his eyes off the couple on the sofa before pointedly looking to Michelle herself. "Guess your tongue is good for more than just rolling those R's  _en français_ , oui?" The flush of the older girl's cheeks is unmistakable, which is a little amusing in a sense considering she had never actually gone down on Naomi at all. But now it's obvious she'd thought about it despite her tendency to be a bit of a pillow queen on occasion. It wasn't like Naomi was complaining. Things take time. They hadn't really done much of  _that_  at all, to be frank. It hadn't really bothered either of them until Tony, in his subtle undermining way, had brought attention to it. Naomi fidgets uncomfortably now and she can feel Michelle tense beside her under Tony's unpleasant stare. It's frustrating because everything had been just fucking  _fine_  until now.

He turns and hangs his jacket on the hook, each movement deliberate and seemingly calculated. Effy slips by, with a carrier bag of new prescription tablets rattling around as she moves into the kitchen to sort them out into each day of the week. All she offers is a small, almost sad smile in Naomi's direction as she goes. Without any kind of invitation, Tony makes his way to the sofa and sinks down right next to Michelle, with a sly grin at both of them.

They're all just sitting, staring at the television screen, watching in silence. Michelle shifts slightly closer to the blonde who notices immediately. Her nerves are on edge at the moment, mostly because she has no idea what Tony's intentions are. He doesn't make them wait long as he slinks his arm over the back of the sofa, dragging a finger over Michelle's shoulder, twirling a lock of her hair around it. A smarmy, closed mouth grin spreads over his face as he notes the gooseflesh rising along her skin. Naomi however is almost incredulous at this intrusion. It's bullshit. Who does he think he is? When she finally meets his eyes, they're dark and almost foreboding, threatening perhaps. It's some sort of challenge and Michelle is merely a pawn in Tony's ego exercise. Seems par for the course.

He pushes further, trailing two fingers across her collarbone, practically begging for a reaction from either of them, though the challenge appears to rest on Naomi. This tosser has no respect for boundaries or common sense. This is not normal behaviour. Naomi feels however that taking his warped bait will only make him even happier. She's stubborn, angry at being put into this position. Michelle is getting increasingly uncomfortable and is twisting, flinching away from Tony's progression, but never all-out resisting. It's the oddest thing. She never actually says no to him. Probably because no one ever says no to Tony Stonem.

Continuing his teasing, her runs his fingers back down from her collarbone, glaring at Naomi the entire time. He's testing. So Naomi breaks his gaze to focus more on Michelle, who is possibly about to cry. Her face looks pained and uncomfortable. Only when Tony purposely grazes the side of her breast does she react more tangibly. She stands quickly and is about to jump away when a hand snaps out to grab her. When she looks down, she's obviously surprised to find it's not a masculine hand holding her wrist. Unfalteringly, Naomi meets her eyes. The blonde shifts over, putting herself between Tony and Michelle to put an end to this fucking ridiculous game. She pulls Michelle down again and she can feel the relief course through the body beside her, relaxing far more than she was before. When Naomi glances at Tony, she sees an odd sort of frustration, almost liked she's cock-blocked him from getting off with his ex-girlfriend. She feels rather pleased with herself for taking this step, and even more so when Michelle's hand finds hers and links their fingers together, holding her hand gently on her lap. Naomi squeezes reassuringly and is even further surprised when she feels the older girl's head rest on her shoulder. The moment Tony tries his same sneaky trick on Naomi, she swats him away and follows it up with a rough push against his chest. She's never been someone with a lot of patience.

Then he laughs. It's that Stonem laugh that says, 'I got you. You thought you knew, but you didn't. I'm still in control.' Naomi does nothing but roll her eyes. He sighs with a chuckle. "Just you wait, Moany."

She supposes it's a warning of some sort but the meaning isn't totally clear. As per fucking usual.

 

 

 

* * *

They're all sitting around the supper table, minus Michelle, when Tony drops the bomb. He winks at Naomi right before he does it and she feels the hairs on the back of her neck raise uneasily.

"So, Moany's got a new girlfriend. Isn't that neat, mum?" He asks it so fucking innocently, laced with some sort of bemusement.

Anthea looks up from her plate and takes a bite of potato off her fork, chewing thoughtfully. "Oh that's lovely." Naomi swallows hard even though she hasn't taken a bite. She's not oblivious to the fact Anthea wasn't particularly approving of the occasional times that Naomi had dragged some wasted stranger home from the clubs. Apparently it's a bad influence on Effy, which seems ludicrous really cos Effy isn't 12 years old anymore, and even at 12 she probably had seen much worse. Not to mention Tony's own exploits. How that is any healthier just because he's a boy is baffling. "A real one, yeah? Not one of your..." The older woman doesn't have to finish her sentence. The meaning is crystal clear and having expected it, Naomi manages not to react.

"Yeah, a  _girlfriend_ ," Tony supplies like the good boy he is. He sips his milk with a sneer.

"So when are you going to invite her over?" Anthea inquires curiously. "It's a big step for you, isn't it? This girlfriend business."

Naomi's blue eyes dart quickly through all the people around the table: Tony with that shit-eating grin on his stupid face; Effy carefully spearing a single pea with her fork; Anthea staring at her with some sort of motherly approval. Could she really not have realised? Perhaps Effy was right; her mum is clueless the majority of the time. Makes for easy delusions. Tony sees Naomi about to respond when he butts in.

"She's already been 'round," he states.

Anthea shrugs and plucks a bit of steak from her plate. "Must not have been whilst I've been in," she says to Tony.

His eyes narrow slightly. "You definitely have been, mum."

The comment is working its way around Anthea's head obviously. She's trying to work out when this stranger would have been seen. Clueless, indeed. She chews on her lip briefly as if contemplating some difficult maths problem. "I don't recall..."

"Oh, you'll love this." The bloody tosspot pauses for fucking dramatic effect or some shit. "It's Chelle."

Silence descends on the table and it looks as if Anthea's about to just drop her utensils in shock. She stares at Naomi and then back at Tony. "Your Michelle?" Naomi cringes at the sentiment.

Tony glares coldly at Naomi. "Yes, mum. My Michelle." Anthea follows his gaze and Naomi feels her cheeks redden with the unwanted attention.

The older woman shrugs and shakes her head a little. "Well, she always has been a bit of a slapper, that one," she states in a soft voice, as if she's angry. Just fucking great. Not only is Anthea pissed off about her seeing Tony's girlfriend – _ex-_ girlfriend– she's also miffed about the girl herself. Lovely. Nothing like starting an uphill climb already at a disadvantage. Any vestige of pleasure Anthea had earlier has miraculously evaporated and been replaced with a sullen disapproval. She stabs another piece of potato roughly. End of conversation. Naomi pushes back from the table, leaving a half-eaten plate of delicious food untouched and marches to her room, avoiding Anthea's unhappy gaze or Tony's for that matter. Bunch of dicks.

Only a few minutes later does she hear a knock on her door and she knows immediately who it is. It's the only person that would both bother to visit her, and respect her privacy. "Come in," she calls tiredly. Effy slips around the door like quicksilver and closes it softly behind herself, gliding over to the end of Naomi's bed. She scratches her cheek absently as she takes a seat on the edge.

"Your brother is such a prick," Naomi grumbles as a way of greeting.

Effy snorts, as if it's old news. And it is of course.

"And now your mum hates me or something."

The brunette shrugs loosely. "It's better," she says. "No more secrets."

Somewhat aghast, Naomi goes on the defensive. "I wasn't – I just don't see how it's really any of your mum's business."

Effy raises an eyebrow. "Or Tony's?"

Naomi swings her legs off the bed and stalks over to her chair, further from Effy, arms crossing over her chest in defiance. "Whatever, Eff. You both knew. Besides," she pauses, trying to gather her erratic thoughts. "It's weird. It's nothing specific. Christ. She's not even... It's  _complicated_  when you have to start questioning yourself. She's – she was..." All this talking around sexuality is pissing Naomi herself off cos it was bad enough going through it once, now she's a catalyst for the same. But even so, she feels like she may actually be talking about herself in third person, and it has nothing to do with a sexual identity crisis.

For a while, all Effy does in response is smile. That big, closed-lipped smirk. She fucking knows, of course. Naomi's not concerned about any internal struggles Michelle may or may not be having; she's preoccupied with her own complexes. It's clearly etched on her face. "You should tell her."

Naomi is about four seconds away from slapping the younger girl across the face. Her and her cryptic fucking advice.  _Tell her what?_  That she's still hung up on what a shitty girlfriend she was the last time around? How she's still pretty damn sure that she won't be much better now? Or maybe that the whole thing is just one massive headfuck. All of those apply, and more probably. Far more that she herself has repressed enough never to have to think about. "That's stupid," she says, ice lacing her voice. Isn't it?

Almost if asking the exact same question, Effy quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head. "You  _fancy_  her." The whole sentence is stressed in a way that implies far more seriousness and meaning than the words alone would allow. Like, it's not _just_ a crush. And Naomi knows full well that it isn't. Because crushes are for children, not almost-grown-ups.

"Yeah, so?" She's being almost petulant now. Honestly, she just wants Effy to come out with it already.

"Tell her." Effy's response is the only reward she can receive and it's barely even understandable let alone helpful. "It'll be okay. Change is good." The younger girl stands slowly, brushes her fringe back like she hasn't a care in the world and just winks. Her and her bloody brother. The only difference is that when Effy does it, it doesn't usually warn of an impending disaster. Usually the opposite. As she is leaving, she stops beside Naomi and places a reassuring hand on her shoulder but says nothing. Within seconds, she's disappeared from the room.

 

 

When Michelle rings the next day, Naomi struggles around the subject of Anthea. And she certainly doesn't take Effy's advice. In the end, she decides it's just easier not to mention the previous night's events at all. She hesitates when Michelle asks to come over to "watch a DVD" which usually has nothing to do with DVDs at all. She stalls so long that the other girl just gives up and says that she'll pop by another time. That 'other time' turns out to be 4 days later, and they've barely spoken in between. It's not that Naomi doesn't want to, but when things weigh heavily on her, she stays quiet, preferring to dwell in the churning silence instead of facing exactly what they are. It shouldn't even really be that big of a deal except, well,  _it is_. Anthea's giving her chilly looks every so often and Tony isn't much better. Effy's about the only person who is feigning indifference with magnificent and obviously practised ease. Escape seems unlikely, and forgiveness even less so. For what crime though? It's hard to forgive some fault that doesn't exist in the first place. So Naomi waits, patiently, as always. But the Stonems never push harder. They're content to float around the issues, drafting by, sending shivers down her spine. Tony with his ice cold gaze, glazed over, shiny but cracking in the heat. Especially Tony seems content to witness, with much attention, how it plays out and again Naomi's left feeling helpless in a game of keep-away.

Eventually, by the time there is a knock on the front door days later, he's melted slightly. Smiles occasionally again. Makes snide remarks, which at one time may have been solely in jest but now feel burdened with veiled admonishment, and flashes of something else perhaps. Something like experienced  _concern_. But it's almost as normal as it could be. Of course, it's Tony that stands to answer the caller on their stoop. Naomi can hear the words but isn't listening for specifics. She's trying to hear tone, what isn't being said. As Michelle enters, everything is off-balance again. She feels wobbly on her feet, like a newborn deer and Tony is staring. Just staring at them both. Naomi reaches out, grasping a little too tightly for Michelle's hand. Glancing back at Tony is a mistake, she knows, but does it anyway. His almost impassive stare rakes along skin and she tugs Michelle brusquely up the stairs, still trying to ignore Tony's cold, intimidating gaze.

The moment they're safe behind her bedroom door, Michelle demands an explanation. For the episode just now; for the last 4 days. And Naomi gives in, relieved somehow at finally being pressured to speak. When it's over, Michelle sighs and it's a long, lonely sound. She shakes her head and without any further preamble, swiftly lifts her top over her head. She's down to her knickers and bra, a turquoise matching set, before the blonde even opens her mouth to ask what's happening. Naomi crosses her arms across her chest, a matching scowl on her face.

"Naomi," Michelle attempts in a flirtatious tone but it makes no appreciable mark on the blonde. The older girl's face falls and she looks solemnly at her girlfriend (That is what they are, right? Maybe). "It's not my fault," she states, as if Naomi's silence is actually latent blame her for their current situation.

"I don't like... this," Naomi says, breaking her sullen demeanour to relay a new kind of exasperation. She points towards her door, indicating the rest of the household.

Michelle, in her typical fashion, shrugs her shoulders and gazes up enticingly. "I know what can make you feel better." It's always about sex with her. Naomi had fallen into this pattern before in her life and it wasn't a particularly wise solution. She wonders briefly if Michelle is actually good at anything besides sex. She never seems to attempt much more. Past experience makes Naomi wary of diving in again. As if reading her resistance in her body, Michelle smiles. "We can talk later about it, yeah?" She pats beside her. "Just come here." Eventually the appeal weakens the blonde's resolve and she shuffles towards her bed, trying to quell the smile peeking around her lips.

After that, it takes little time for Naomi to find herself under the duvet as well. Skin to skin contact teases her nerves, her body prickling with anticipation already as the accompanying warmth begins to flow from one body to the other. Back and forth, ebbing and surging. Fingers probing and pushing, pulling back, twisting. The blonde lets out a groan, a little louder than planned, as she feels Michelle deep inside. She pulls the other girl closer, grabbing at her smooth skin and arching her back in need. She can feel lips on her neck, her collarbone, her tits. The girl really is quite a fast learner. It wasn't as if her blatant constant ooze of sexuality was without merit, that's for certain.

The signs are all flying at her now: the hot flush of need, writhing, penetrating even her bones as she arches closer, pushes harder; the fact that air is no longer sufficient and she needs more of it, faster and shallowly gulping it in. it's building and tickling, tingling all around. It's times like these Naomi wonders about Michelle, how she seems to know every move to make at precisely the right time, and usually, like at the moment, those thoughts evaporate quickly in a puff because it's already begun. She thinks she tastes blood in her mouth as she cums, gripping at the sheets or skin or whatever she can when the waves smack her into the mattress. Likely she's bitten down too hard on her lip in a desperate bid to stay quiet. When she opens her eyes, Michelle's gazing at her, darting between her lips and her eyes.

Michelle kisses her so fucking gently on her bottom lip. "You've got an ouch," she whispers and Naomi runs her tongue out, tasting iron and some synthetic berry lipgloss. She smiles meekly and sighs loudly. "Not thinking about the Tony shit now are you?" Michelle asks, grinning. Naomi turns her head and looks sideways at the older girl.

"Not exactly, no."

"Hmm, how about how amazing your girlfriend is? Sound familiar?" She scrunches her nose and giggles.

Naomi rolls her eyes. "Not quite that." She misses the momentarily slip of Michelle's smile before she pulls it back up again. She's still not fully aware that these moments of Michelle's may seem innocuous and playful but her motivations are more complex. They come off flippant but that begging for reassurance echoes some deeper need. These are not things Naomi notices usually, and certainly not at times like these when her brain is barely functioning at a 6-year-old's level, let alone anything more astute. Her body is running instinct not intelligence and so she follows where it takes her. Her limbs shift and twist, pinning the brunette beneath her, licking a wet trail from behind her ear, down a well-defined jawline and dipping further south as nimble fingers reciprocate what has just been given to her.

An anxious, excited kind of sound escapes Michelle's lips moments before Naomi's bedroom door swings open and fucking Tony Stonem just saunters right in. There's a rather loud squeal from the older girl and Naomi scrambles to cover them both. The boy smirks in a distinctly displeased way and leans against her desk.

"Tony, what the  _fuck_?" Naomi yells, clutching at her blanket tightly. "What the actual fuck? You fucking wanker." She's positively seething at this intrusion. He's never been this bad before. Michelle is watching him with something akin to fear, maybe, suspicion even. Uncertainty. And Naomi suddenly feels incredibly out of the loop about something going on between Michelle and Tony. These are  _their_ games, the games they played  _before_. Power, control, manipulation. Tony calmly crosses one foot over the other, his hands loosely tucked in his trouser pockets. He's the picture of assurance, especially in contrast to the girls in the room with him.

"I don't believe you, Tony," Michelle growls.

"Why not?" he asks with a cocky shrug as if it's the most foreseeable thing in the world. "Well, I just came in to get..." He trails off as he rakes his gaze over Naomi's cluttered workspace. "Ah, this," he finishes and holds up a hi-lighter marker. The cold gaze from both girls doesn't falter with his flimsy excuse. He pushes off from the desk and walks towards the door before turning back to them.

"By the way, Moany," he says, conspiratorially and waves the marker around like a magic wand in their direction, "Don't let it get to you. It's not  _your_  fault."

She sneers. "What?"

There's an empty chuckle from the tall boy. "Michelle's a bit of a cold fish in the sack, trust me. I tried everything. Didn't I, Nips?" It's absolutely ruthless. Michelle recoils into the cover of the duvet a little, as if trying to shield herself from Tony's words behind Naomi. He shrugs in that insufferable way again. "I'm not the only one who thinks so either." There's something in the way that he's piercing her with his eyes that implies Michelle knows exactly what he's referring to.

Naomi draws in a deep breath; it stutters with rage. It's bad enough having him barge into her bedroom, and worse to start discussing his sexual history with her girlfriend, and then a completely other thing to be insulting said girlfriend on top it all. Her jaw is clenched painfully.

"Just fair warning, yeah? Don't beat yourself up about it." He lingers for a moment as he glances back at Naomi. "I didn't." Then he holds up the hi-lighter. "Thanks for this." And he leaves the room, pulling the door closed behind him with a soft click. Naomi stares at Michelle for a moment, trying to decipher the whirlwind of thoughts obviously swirling in her mind at this second. No hint is given with any accuracy so she does what she can to ease the tension: presses a tense Michelle back into the pillows and picks up where they had left off. Tony's a sod. He's not _always_  right; it's not actually and statistically possible. Right? She intends to prove that to Michelle once again as she kisses a trail south.

 

 

 

* * *

The mouth-watering aroma of Sunday roast wafts directly up Naomi's nostrils as she makes her way down the stairs with Michelle in tow. Effy is arranging the utensils on the kitchen table in her weirdly methodical and precise way, and Tony is already at his seat, absorbed in a copy of  _On the Genealogy of Morality._  It's with some semblance of relief that Naomi notices the two extra place-settings. Michelle, quick to rectify her place in Anthea's good books, offers her assistance. Or maybe she's looking for a distraction from Tony. Naomi however isn't as concerned (she is paying rent after all) and walks by Tony, smacking his pretentious book out of his hands. It lands with a clash and a clang on his plate and rattles the cutlery beside it. Everyone looks at he and Naomi, even Effy, with a curious, wide-eyed expression. Naomi says nothing and settles into her own seat and Tony for his part keeps equally quiet, smirks, calmly picking up his book and flipping back to the page he was on.

"And, as I said before, even in great  _punishment_ there is so much that is festive!" Tony suddenly reads aloud from his book, in a peculiar monotone. It startles Michelle to the point that she drops the large spoon in her hand and it smacks loudly against the floor. Effy glances in her direction briefly before focussing on Tony and they share a look that Naomi can't understand, of course. It's the same impenetrable exchange that only the siblings seem to understand; in fact it is more like their most effective form of communication. Tony says no more and resorts to reading quietly again, oblivious to the bustle of preparing supper around him.

The meal passes without further incident and Anthea, graciously if subtly grudgingly, engages the girls in conversation as if the stifling tension between them and her son is non-existent. Effy's picking at her plate when Anthea stands and says she needs to nip round to the shop for milk. It seems rather abrupt but the children don't complain. The older woman does point to Effy's supper with a stern look, silently ordering her to finish eating. The young girl narrows her eyes and watches her mother leave the room. Tony pops his final piece of beetroot into his mouth before turning to Naomi and Michelle. He doesn't even need to say a word and Naomi's already preparing herself for some rude comment. She rubs a hand over her face. And the boy doesn't disappoint.

"So, Nips." God, his voice is so slimy and obnoxious when he wants it to be. "Didn't hear much fuss from upstairs." He looks to Naomi with mock pity. "Sorry about that. I  _did_  warn you." Even Effy now has paused, her bit of potato dangling forgotten on her fork.

Michelle shakes her head. "Just shut up, Tony." She sounds positively fatigued. Naomi's at a loss. She feels the burning, prickly sensation that she's supposed to say or do something, as if this is all a play but she hasn't got a script.

"You shouldn't be worried though. Frigidity's not uncommon." Every word that escapes from his mouth is said with such a lack of emotion that Naomi's not sure if it's really him or a robot. It's making her skin crawl. And it's making Michelle's cheeks flush a shade of deep pink that Naomi's never seen before. Her eyes begin to water and the blonde catches the slight pooling of tears at their edges. Tony doesn't stop though. He makes an exaggerated shivering sound and rubs his arms as if there's a cold breeze. Then he makes a fish face directly at Michelle.

She's up and out of the room before he can get another word in, humiliation obviously pouring from her body.

"Christ, you are such a fucking cunt!" Naomi snaps as she watches her girlfriend flee into the sitting room, and then there's the slam of the front door not long after. "Don't you ever start shit like that again."

"Or what?" he asks, finally emotion peeking through, even if it is just incredulity. Of course Naomi doesn't have a specific threat in mind, at least not a realistic one that would genuinely spark fear in the Stonem boy. (Very little does.)

Naomi just growls in frustration. "It must kill you to know there's something I can do that you couldn't."

She's met with an empty laugh in response. "There's nothing I can't do," he states plainly and off Naomi's totally disbelieving look, he adds, "When _I_   _want_ to." Effy simply raises an eyebrow at the exchange but Naomi's not quite so calm. It reeks of selfishness and manipulation, all at Michelle's expense.

"You think you know, Tony, but you haven't a fucking clue," she finally seethes, hissing through nearly clenched teeth. "Selfish fucking twat."

Silence descends over the supper table after Naomi's remark and Tony merely pulls his fucking book out and pretends the blonde no longer exists. Fucking typical. Finally, Naomi gazes over to Effy who has just now put her bite of food into her mouth. She looks almost as taken aback at the entire scene as Naomi is. She nods her head in the direction of the front door. Repeatedly. Until Naomi picks up on the message and she sighs grudgingly gratefully at finally having some help. She rises from her seat and huffs out of the room. As Naomi goes, and unbeknownst to her, Tony looks up from his novel and directly at his sister. He smirks and winks at her, blue eyes meeting identical blue. She rewards him with a smug, knowing smile of her own.

 

 

Naomi finds Michelle leaning against the outer wall of the flat, standing in the fucking garden amongst the flowers. Anthea may actually strangle her if she catches her there. Naomi supposes Michelle likely feels like she has a death wish at this moment anyway. Not to mention her eyes are puffy and red, tear stains streak her cheeks and instantly Naomi feels a wave of guilt at not stopping Tony from running his mouth sooner. Michelle covers her face with her hands quickly when she sees Naomi. The blonde never had been particularly skilful or endowed with the gift of making tearful people feel better. Usually she spouts of some ridiculously truthful fact about the situation that is neither here nor there in terms of positivity. And as a result there's normally a momentary lapse of tears, but once the confusion passes, it all starts up again. She fucking tries though. Tip-toeing into the flower garden, making sure not to trample the plants further, Naomi stands in front of her girlfriend calmly. She reaches out to grab hold of the other girl's biceps. It is supposed to be comforting.

"It's just Tony, yeah?" And there it is: Naomi Campbell's great talent at stating the obvious and not really making anything better at all.

Michelle drops her hands away from her flushed face and just stares, aghast, at Naomi's comment. "And that's an excuse now, is it?" She's livid at the insinuation and Naomi's pretty bloody certain that had they not actually been shagging, she would have one perfectly manicured hand slap across her face.

The blonde lowers her face and shakes her head. "No, that's not..." She looks up again to see all the hurt etched right there on Michelle's face. Her voice softens enormously in the presence of actual anguish. "Chelle."

"What did I do?" she asks tearfully. "He was being  _so_  good."

Naomi has no answer for her, and a small shrug is all she can offer. "Years, Naomi.  _Years_ ," Michelle says severely, her voice choking out the last word, a little hiccup punctuating her sentence. "That sort of thing was just normal for us and it took years for me to realise that it  _isn't normal_. And then it took  _years_  to forget it. And I just kept it with me and kept fucking up, all through uni..." Her face crumples a little and she sniffles trying to hold back tears again. "It's fucking...fucking..." There's not really any need to finish the sentence anyway. The blonde worries her bottom lip and looks sympathetically at the mess of a girl in her midst. She steps forward and slowly, as if cornering a wild animal, takes Michelle in a careful embrace. Immediately, she feels strong arms tighten around her and she knows she's not the one who needs cheering up, but this feels really good. She's necessary. Wanted.  _Needed_.

And as more than just a friend with a shoulder to cry on. Naomi tilts away slightly, before snagging Michelle's lips with her own in a strikingly soft yet insistent kiss. She wants to say that Tony could recite a list of 1,000 ways Michelle was shit, with Oscar-calibre clout and it wouldn't change a fucking thing about the way she feels. Words are clunky though and Naomi is a girl of action. Sort of, when  _she_   _wants_  to be. As it goes, Michelle isn't one to argue with this method and must understand the meaning well enough because when they break apart, there's a hint of smile on the older girl's face and tears are almost dry.

"We both know he's talking bollocks anyway," Naomi states with a shrug and wink. Michelle lets out a soft laugh and ducks her head. They're both well aware how often Michelle shoots off like a sodding firecracker on Guy Fawkes Night. She raises her pinky and flexes it for emphasis of Tony's lack of skill. Michelle finally lets out a real laugh and her breath stutters as the hiccups from crying begin to fade. She pushes Naomi back, out of the very dangerous garden and out onto the stone walk.

She grabs her hand. "I don't want to go back in there with him." After a deep, cleansing breath, she grins seductively, looking to reaffirm her self-worth. "My aunt's not in. Let's go back to mine."


	2. Newton's First Law

 

 

 

Naomi doesn't return home for three days. When she does eventually come into the sitting room, wearing a pair of Michelle's Juicy tracksuit bottoms and a slightly uncharacteristic cami, Tony eyes her up and down with a shit-eating grin. She instantly flips him off, much to Anthea's dismay who seems shocked that Naomi has actually returned.

"Welcome back, Ishmael," Tony calls out as she walks by him with determination, but without actual purpose. As she starts up the stairs, she's surprised to hear him following behind her and she assumes that it's just to mock her further. But he stays strangely silent until they enter her bedroom. She spins on him suddenly.

"Is there something I can help you with, tosser?" Not actually concerned with his answer, she digs around in her dresser drawer for a change of clothes. A jumper, hopefully.

Tony closes the door softly and remains in the room, watching her carefully. "You wearing Chelle's knickers too?" He sounds completely amused by the notion.

Naomi groans and slips into a cardigan, pulling it tightly across her chest, and finally facing him. "For Christ's sake, Tony."

He leers at her. "You are, aren't you?" Then he lets out a laugh that is so loud it rattles around the room a little too powerfully for Naomi's taste. " _Brilliant_." He ignores her glare and plops himself down on her bed, running a hand over her sociology textbook absently. It's obvious he has no intentions on leaving until he gets whatever it is he's come for. Likely it'll be a drawn out process to even begin to figure out what that is so Naomi slinks down next to him on the mattress and sits, waiting patiently for him to give her some bloody hint. Finally he breaks the silence, piercing her with those familiar blue Stonem eyes. "I had to, you know."

Naomi huffs in irritation and disbelief, thinking only of how upset Michelle had been. Nothing like that ever  _has_  to be done, especially to someone like Michelle. She rolls her eyes for good measure.

"You were taking it all for granted," he states, and she's surprised to hear a degree of protectiveness, if not menace in his words. "Wouldst thou have that which thou esteem'st the ornament of life, and live a coward in thine own esteem, letting 'I dare not' wait upon 'I would'".

"English, Tony." He shrugs, leaving the meaning up to her and smirking in that all-knowing way of his. She continues to glare at him. "You shouldn't have said those things. You're not bloody God or something. You don't need to force anything."

"Where's the fun in that? In order and readiness? If you wait to do things until you're ready, you'll never get anything done. It's a fact."

This is bullshit. Tony lecturing her on... whatever he's lecturing her on seems backwards. She supposes it's something about taking chances, trying to justify himself as this noble, altruistic doer of good deeds when really he's just covering for being such a sodding prick. She and Michelle had been perfectly fine existing in whatever supposed limbo they'd been in until he began to meddle in it all. His interference had hardly helped matters, had it? Doesn't seem to matter anyway cos for three days she'd done nothing but lounge about naked in Michelle's bed or eat take-away in front of her aunt's exceptionally gigantic television. It had only been a brief respite from this fuckery, but it had worked to both calm and reassure them both. She shifts uncomfortably.

"You  _really_  hurt her." She hopes her words trigger some sort of recognition in that deluded mind of his.

He winks at her. What the hell? Then he taps his nose. Maybe it was supposed to be some exercise to belay Michelle's fragility, her weakness. How easily she can be hurt. Maybe. But Tony doesn't make his plan any clearer than that. Maybe it had just been random, an excuse to make a girl cry, to exact unnecessary and particularly nasty revenge for her choices. It's all a fucking mess anyway and just like Effy, he'll never make his motives clear to her. There's a softness however when she looks deeper in his eyes. Something that says, 'Don't hurt her too. She needs someone to  _love_  her properly.' Almost as if it's an admission that there is something he can't do, even if he wanted to. He can't love her the way she needs and he's placing that trust in in Naomi now. It's disconcerting to see that humility in Tony, and to witness firsthand his faith in other people. But of course, he'd never say it out loud so he lets his eyes do the talking. The moment passes by quickly however, and she's met with another Stonem shrug.

"She'll forgive me." And with that, he's back to his over-confident self.

She begins chewing on a worn down fingernail, lost in thought and he picks up on it, obviously. "Beginnings are always messy, Naomi." He doesn't elaborate, or placate her with some bollocks about how endings are perfect though. Just again, simple facts of nature. Perhaps even yet another justification for his own behaviour. She's not sure but that doesn't bother her this time. She nods in acceptance and he pulls himself off her bed and hovers near the doorway.

"Thanks, Ahab," she says. She's pretty sure she means it. She regards him with a strange affection, even despite everything, as he pulls her door closed on his way out.

 

 

 

* * *

The dust settles rapidly following her exchange with the man of the house. The tension of the previous week has greatly subsided and in its wake is a kind of contentment that it appears everyone is grateful for. Even Effy seems less stiff around her brother and Naomi. Anthea is still a bit on the prickly side but gradually that is dissipating as well. The last Naomi really hears of Anthea's disapproval comes in the form of a question regarding when Michelle plans on moving back to Bristol, as if this was the arrangement all along. Truth is, and as Naomi recites, Michelle's sort of enjoying her job at the council and her aunt is not put out at all by her niece's company. It's open-ended for the time being. Whatever reservations the older woman had been hanging onto seem to slip away with the knowledge that Tony's ex-girlfriend isn't going anywhere any time soon. It's with some relief that eventually Michelle and Tony reconcile after his deplorable actions, and they're back to being mates. Of course, he had been right. Of course she would forgive him. Naomi doesn't think it's a bad thing this time. It makes everyone's lives easier.

 

 

Nearly 6 months into seeing Michelle, at the very tail end of August, Naomi receives a cold shock of reality. Effy enters her room late one night and crawls into Naomi's bed without asking permission. The space occupied usually by another brunette is filled again. Effy says nothing for a very long time and Naomi squints in the darkness at her tangible shadow. Effy reaches out and brushes a lock of blonde hair back from Naomi's darkened face.

"You're pretty when you sleep," she whispers and it sets Naomi's nerves on edge. She reckons this is starting off like some sort of porno-horror film. Any moment she expects Effy to unsheathe a giant razor or something from under the blankets, cackling like a maniac.

"Eff?" Maybe it's her meds. Is she even taking them anymore? Naomi's not certain and she doesn't recall the younger girl recently following the same routines as she had been for the previous few years. "You all right?"

Effy laughs, a breathy sort of half-hearted sound escapes in its place. She squirms closer to Naomi so their faces are inches apart. In this light, the blonde can clearly make out the glint in those ice blue eyes. Unsettling. Mostly cos she's uncertain of Effy's intentions. Stonems are not exactly known for their respect of personal space. "Peachy." She drops her hand from Naomi's face and wriggles into the tangle of sheets. "Let's go on a trip." Her voice is low and even, drawn out. Dangerous and otherworldly.

"Sorry?" This is feeling a little too surreal at the moment. Effy creeping into her room, in the middle of the night with that strange look in her eyes and asking about a trip. Naomi honestly expects her to pull out some pills, or maybe a tab but the other girl makes no move to do so.

Effy sighs. "Back to where it all began."

Naomi pauses, trying to work around the riddle. "You've lost me, Eff. Where what began?"

The brunette's smirk stretches across her lips. " _It._  All of it."

It's honestly too late for this kind of cryptic speak and Naomi groans in mild irritation. Circles upon circles, with this girl. When Naomi doesn't ask again, Effy continues. "I need to go back.  _We_ do."

There's something resembling understanding forming in Naomi's sleepy brain. The time of year, Effy's reluctance to speak it clearly.  _Bristol_. Freddie's memorial. Oh, for fuck's sake. "Jesus, do you have to ask me this in the middle of the night?"

Effy stares impassively at her as if that's a completely insignificant detail. "I already told Tony." As if that's some sort of reason for the late hour. "And I'm not asking." Of course she isn't. Learnt it well from her brother.

There's no use arguing. It's already decided obviously. "Fine," she agrees although they're both well aware how useless and empty that word truly is. Naomi's a little wrapped up in whether Michelle will come with her too. She doesn't want to go alone, face her mother. Well, Effy and Tony will be there but something is tugging at her. A sort of necessity to put things to rest and maybe that's the same as what Effy is feeling. This time of year always plays games with her sanity. Effy manages to force an even larger, yet potentially more menacing smile. She leans over and plants a kiss on Naomi's cheek, close to her ear. She hovers and gooseflesh rises on Naomi's arms.

"You only think it's perfect, Naomi." As she pulls back and slips out of Naomi's bed, she pins the older girl with a solemn stare that makes Naomi squirm. "It isn't. Yet." Then, in the heavy shadow of late night, there's a spark in Effy's eyes. She winks. It's some sort of promise. Naomi hopes to God that it isn't the same kind of gift Tony's wink normally guarantees.

 

 

 

* * *

It's not until late morning on the day that Naomi's meant to leave for Bristol that the doorbell rings. She's in her bedroom, packing the last of her things and can hear Tony opening the front door. His voice carries upwards unmistakably.

"Bloody hell, Nips. Why are you dressed like one of Berlusconi's personal call-girls?"

"Fuck off, Tony." Oh, lovely. He's put Michelle in a wonderful mood already and it's not even noon. There's bustling from below and the sound of Michelle's heels clunking up the stairs. She appears in the doorway soon after, with an adorable, bashful smile that is completely juxtaposed to, what Naomi has to agree, is a rather provocative outfit for an afternoon train journey. She's not entirely sure if Michelle's got on a skirt or just a particularly large belt. The blazer produces a sort of high-class legitimacy to the ensemble that the diving cleavage betrays. It's all very 'naughty secretary' and honestly, the blonde feels torn between wanting to shag her senseless and throw a blanket over her and hide her away in the attic. She must be staring because Michelle laughs briefly, tosses her straightened hair and then crosses the room, laying a soft kiss on Naomi's cheek. It burns.

"All right?" she asks cheekily. Naomi tries again to form a sentence, even a greeting of some kind in return. Instead, she nods. "Like it?"

The blonde runs a hand through her hair. "Yeah, erm..." She trails off, unable to say much more. She busies herself with cramming the last of her socks into her overnight bag.

"Something the matter?" As if the older girl can pretend to be so oblivious.

Naomi snorts softly. "You're kidding me, yeah?" Finally she works through a full sentence. "You do know where we're going."

Michelle shrugs nonchalantly, and cocks her hip in a model's pose, apparently unconcerned with any complaints. "To Bristol, show that city what they've been missing." Off Naomi's look she amends her comment with more modesty. "To meet your mum."

Naomi's eyes widen and glare, an eyebrow perking slightly, trying to trigger some sort of understanding in the brunette who appears to be purposely playing coy. "Do you want to fuck my mum, Chelle? Cos...  _look_  at you. You'd turn a gay man straight."

There's a definite smirk that spreads across the older girl's face. "Do  _you_  want to shag me, Naomi?"

Michelle's met with a signature eye-roll from her girlfriend. It's followed with a shake of her head and Naomi focusses on zipping her bag closed. She feels the girl move closer, brush against her and drag her finger along her forearm suggestively. It's taking a great deal of willpower not to snap, in either a good or bad way. She pats her luggage in a bid to distract herself, shake herself out of this daze. It doesn't really work cos Michelle isn't dissuaded. "Do you?"

Naomi groans and looks up at the ceiling. There's no real point in fighting it. She turns quickly, grabs Michelle by the arms and pushes her almost roughly onto her back on the mattress. "Why are you even  _asking_  me?" she hisses, trying to control something she's not sure is anger or desire. There's a resulting sort of surprise in the green eyes staring back at her, as if Michelle hadn't considered the idea that Naomi was honestly affected. That in turn makes Naomi second-guess this whole game. The moment doesn't last too long because the denial becomes tiring, too stressful. She presses their lips together, immediately gaining access to her girlfriend's tongue. She settles her weight heavily on her, almost roughly sliding her hand up underneath the nearly absent skirt into similarly flimsy knickers. Michelle's gasp is louder than expected as she sucks in Naomi's breath too. She can feel soft, manicured fingertips trailing deftly under her own top.

It doesn't last long however because Anthea's voice calls up, interrupting them. "Naomi, come along!" She's meant to give the girls a lift to Paddington. Naomi crawls off and notices how Michelle dodges her gaze. She's methodically adjusting her blazer and tugging down her skirt, running her fingers through her hair.

"You just want to be wanted," Naomi says plainly. She'd recognise that need anywhere. It's strangely familiar. Maybe it hits a little too close to home. Michelle glances up at her momentarily, her eyes glistening in a slightly sad way but seemingly moderately surprised at being caught out in her own game. Finally, she shrugs.

"Sort of," she affirms in a half-whisper. Blowing out a deep breath, her mask falls back into place. "Stop dawdling, Nome. Let's go then." Her voice is forcibly airy again and she smirks. Naomi has the eerie feeling that she may have met her match as she picks up her bag and follows Michelle as she struts out of the bedroom.

 

 

 

* * *

They've been sitting on the train for a while, in silence for the most part. It's heavy and a little awkward now and Naomi realises that maybe she should have just kept her mouth shut back in her bedroom. Sometimes you think things that shouldn't be said out loud. She recalls how strange and embarrassed she had felt when Emily called her out on something similar. How exposed she had been, how vulnerable. So much so that her needs and weaknesses had been that visible to another person when she had tried so hard to conceal them. It hasn't helped that more than every second male has oogled her girlfriend and, being the coward she is, she hasn't even moved to do something as simple as take her hand. Somehow that seems to have made things worse.

The train is coming up into Reading when Michelle finally speaks. "When I first met you, you reminded me of Tony." Her voice sounds thoughtful, a little sad. Naomi glances at her questioningly with a silent urge to continue. Michelle shrugs. "Aloof. Unconcerned with other people. Clever. Guarded." She pauses as if deep in thought. "Besides, you get on well with Effy, and him, so you have to be a certain type of person. Like _them_." It's all said a little wistfully, and a little disdainfully. Naomi's not sure where her girlfriend is going with this. There's something foreboding in its direction and she fidgets uncomfortably without thinking.

"But you're not, are you? You care."

Naomi wants to argue that Effy cares. Effy cares too much a lot of the time. And Tony does too, even if he never shows it directly. She considers her conversation with him about Michelle. He does care. Instead, she stays schtum cos it doesn't seem like the real point. This isn't about the Stonems. It's Michelle's turn to flip Naomi's perception of reality on its head. "You're different than him."

Somehow, this assertion seems almost insulting, like despite all evidence to the contrary, being Tony Stonem is a highly desirable thing for a partner to be. As a result, Naomi takes exception to it. "How do you know?" They've only been together for a few months, and only known each other for a few weeks more on top of that. She's not sure that she's that transparent. She hopes she's not. Michelle raises an eyebrow and chuckles a little. Naomi reframes her question, "When did you...?" It's an admission she'd rather not make but there's little point in arguing.

Michelle gives her a half-smile. "That night. After the pub." She shakes her head for a moment. "You fooled me for a while after, had me thinking I imagined it. But you  _touch_  differently. Not like you just assume things are just yours to own. More like you can't trust yourself to ever have them given to you." Michelle gazes intently at her for a moment before flipping her hair and turning to stare out of the window.

Naomi considers this insight. It may be true. May not. She's not sure she wants to think too long on it. She gives a small shake of her head, trying to push away any truth but the moment Michelle turns back to her, their eyes meet again, and she knows it's pointless. Instead of pushing the issue, the brunette leans in and gives Naomi a long, soft kiss. Naomi's struck with the feeling that Michelle often does know more than she lets on. After the kiss ends, her blue eyes dart around, self-consciously if only because of her visible tenderness, the heavy artillery of her ego's defences scattered and abandoned momentarily in light of her girlfriend's unabashed affection. There's a bloke sitting nearby who's caught the action. And there's a dirty leer on his pudgy face. The blonde grimaces. That's exactly what she hadn't wanted and immediately she rallies the troops for an offensive. Michelle's picked up on it too and her eyes darken noticeably in some kind of defiance, in warning, and Naomi's taken aback by the threat present. The  _possessiveness_. It would be a lie to claim that she wasn't rather flattered, enthralled even. Michelle is not accustomed to having things taken from her and Naomi can sense the rigidity setting in as Michelle prepares. The manky bloke doesn't seem put off much and only glances away briefly before staring at them again, eyeing Michelle's bare legs in filthy appreciation. In response, Naomi is back to wishing she could just throw a blanket over her girlfriend's body like some backwards 50's husband. It's not pleasant. Michelle is hers and not perv fodder. She flips him off brusquely with a very pronounced scowl on her face and finally he turns back to his paper.

What Michelle had said may be true; she hadn't just assumed ownership of anything that first night. She hadn't been trying to either. However, she sure feels the exact opposite now. There's nothing more she desires than to take possession. She reckons it's okay in moderation, surely. Her attention turns back to the topic they'd been discussing as the subject wiggles uncomfortably in her mind still. "Chelle, how did you... It was just–."

"A drunk shag," she finishes, her voice hard with the reminder of how little it supposedly meant to Naomi. "Yeah, I got that the first time. Doesn't change anything."

This is the first time since a week after that event they've talked point blank about it, or their actual relationship really. It's fucking creepy that Naomi always has these moments of clarity (perhaps, more fittingly, of weakness) on trains. She pushes the idea to the back of her mind. Michelle shrugs again.

"You may have been drunk, but you touched me like you cared about  _me_." Michelle's voice is soft and sincere, urgent even, painfully so and it's a little disconcerting. A little too familiar in a sense.

Naomi gazes over at the older girl who has once again taken to staring thoughtfully out of the train window, obviously avoiding whatever cold justification she seems to believe is forthcoming. It must be something in the air on these First Great Western trains that breaks down her common sense and her defences. As a result Naomi can't help but tell the truth. "You make it sound like I'm like that with everyone." She isn't. Those slags she'd fucked in club toilets or randoms that ended up in her bed at the end of a particularly fucked up night? No. She hadn't cared about them, and hadn't let them think she had. Something peculiar had slipped with Michelle that she's never quite been able to grasp onto again since. "I'm not."  _It's just you_.

"I know." The words come out quiet and pensive and Naomi's fully convinced that Michelle understands the implication. So she just links their fingers together and smiles, saying nothing more.

 

 

 

* * *

They stand on the pavement outside the train station under a surprisingly bright sun. Naomi recalls the last time she was standing in this exact spot, just done clambering out of a taxi after doing a runner from the airport. She hasn't been back to Bristol since, and it doesn't appear to have changed at all. Same vendors, same line of taxis, same sky, same smell. When she'd first moved to London, she'd made plans to return to visit her mum but things kept interfering with that and eventually the idea just evaporated. Now, standing amongst all the memories, she's sort of confused about which direction to take. Michelle seems much more comfortable with being back in town and that's no surprise quite honestly, since she had returned a few times to visit her own mum and friends. They bicker for a moment about where to go next as Naomi suggests Michelle's, and Michelle flatly refuses, citing Ham Green as "bloody miles" and complaining about the fare. The younger girl suspects there may be a little more to it but doesn't push the issue. They wander over to a waiting cab and climb in a little clumsily, tossing their luggage in as well. Finally the driver speaks up, gruffly.

"All right, ladies?"

The voice sparks something in Naomi. Something familiar. She quickly glances at the rear-view mirror to see if she can make out a face to match the voice. Shifting impatiently around she tries for a better angle. The mirror isn't giving a decent hint and his mop of brown hair and flat cap don't help matters. But the voice, it's making her anxious for some reason she can't place. The driver, noticing her fidgeting and lack of response looks over his shoulder.

"Well, fuck me," he says with a grin. "Naomikins!"

"Cook!" She grins then, widely half to cover the shock at seeing him and half because she's almost inhumanly ecstatic.

"How you doin', babe?"

She smirks. "I'm  _not_ a babe _._ " Her familiar response prompts a large guffaw of laughter from the boy. She continues, "How are you? What're you... you're back? And working?" She has so many questions that need immediate answering. It feels like ages... It  _has_  been ages, her brain recalls.  _Years_  since that party at Freddie's shed. She hadn't even known he'd been released from prison. Her whole life seems so out of touch suddenly. It's with a pang of hurt that she realises he didn't even drop her a line at any point in the last 2 years. Then again, it's not like she'd left anything for anyone and her mum had moved to a much smaller flat almost immediately upon her departure to London.

"Aye," he nods, "Couldn't keep me chained forever, yeah? A wild buck's gotta run free."

She figures that's the best explanation she's about to get at this time. She'll save the heavy shit for later. But she has so many questions, so much lost time to catch up on. Cook doesn't appear to be particularly concerned with reminiscing though judging by the way his eyes have finally settled on her companion, and are now sleazily working their way up her body with no shame. Half of her thinks Michelle deserves this attention; it's not like she's not asking for it. Something about the way she shifts closer though makes Naomi wary of letting Cook continue much longer. "So Blondie, who's this then?" He awkwardly reaches back to extend his hand. "I'm James. Cook. I'm Cook."

There's an instant of recognition at his name and Naomi knows she's seen it on the news, and they've probably briefly discussed him at some point. Cook either doesn't notice or is used to it by now. Michelle takes his outstretched hand politely. "Michelle." He grins at both of them, cocking his head as he looks at the girls, sitting side-by-side.

"Your bird then, eh?" he asks Naomi outright. He must know about her and Emily being split then. How could he not? He's probably run into Emily, or Katie, or JJ. Somebody at any rate. He nods his approval and Michelle rolls her eyes. "Well done. Proper stunner."

"Thanks?" Naomi manages to squeak out sheepishly, unsure why she's so interested in his approval anyway. At least it's nice to know he doesn't hate her. He must not have heard about everything. And still being the same old Cook, he's still staring. "Cook! Oi, you're driving us someplace, right?"

He turns back around with a careless laugh. "Where to, princess?"

"Wallingford road."

"That where your lovely mum is now?" Naomi makes a grunt in affirmation as he starts the car. "I went by your guys' old flat when I got sprung." It's the first time he's sounded halfway calm since their conversation began. "Asked Kates about you, you know. She didn't know. You're better than me and Eff at that running thing."

Naomi bites her lip as he speaks and tries not to look at Michelle, whose eyes she can feel boring holes into her skin. She'd mentioned bits and pieces about Bristol, and Tony had told her a great deal about Effy's part in all of it. But the Emily stuff, well, that had never come up as such. She hopes Cook doesn't let anything slip before she has a chance first. Fucking secrets, or whatever it is. Just an omission, really. Isn't it? Sort of like when Michelle vaguely mentioned the "bad things" she did in uni and never elaborated, even though at the time her voice had been dark, disgusted and regretful. Naomi's never pushed it, and in return Michelle has never pushed back about Bristol. In order to change the subject, she picks up on something else. "Katie?"

"You're well out of it, aren't you? Yeah, me and Kates. You know how it goes, Blondie. Top mate, mega shag."

The news is outright shocking and Naomi tries valiantly to withhold her expression of pure disbelief. She can't possibly comment on that without something wrong inadvertently escaping. She's sure. It's not that she's not pleased, just surprised and likely whatever stupid words she'd form would be misconstrued in some horrible way. She settles for a quiet "Wow." and stares out the window. Despite the speed at which they're zipping down Wells, everything is hitting her full-force with its familiarity. It doesn't matter if it's blurring in reality, it's crystal clear in her mind. Sensing her need for silence like he always has, he lets the conversation lapse and fade for the remainder of the drive.

Only when they turn onto Wallingford does Naomi speak up with the exact address. He shuts the taxi down and steps out, helping Michelle with her bag and taking a long look at her ass as well. Naomi smacks him and he silently mimes an A-OK gesture. Again to her surprise, he's the one that initiates a strong hug, pulling her close. "Missed you, Naomikins. Well bad."

"Yeah, me too," she agrees and grabs out her mobile and they exchange numbers like teenagers making a first date.

"Ring me if you need a lift. No charge." She nods and smiles, genuinely. It feels eerily like old times. Those strange, heavy teenage years when no one really knew what to say and even less what to do. "Oi, foxy lady," he whistles and calls over to Michelle who is standing a fair bit away just to stay out of their seemingly private moment, "You take good care of this one, yeah?"

Michelle smirks in amusement, and crosses herself. "Cross my heart."

It's at that moment that Gina comes rushing out of the house and down the path to meet them. Cook dodges away quickly into his car and is off before she recognises him. The older woman has taken her daughter in a crushing embrace quite suddenly and Naomi is concerned about the pure intensity of the hug. She squeezes back and Gina loosens her hold with a sad grin on her face. "Oh love, I've missed you."

"Missed you too, Mum," Naomi mutters out and Gina's smile brightens noticeably and she turns to the other girl in the garden.

"And you're Michelle," she says, "Naomi's told me so much about you." Michelle shoots Naomi a curious look and the blonde shrugs it off. Gina takes Michelle's hand, gives it a squeeze and gives the girl a very prolonged look from toe to head, taking in her rather provocative outfit, never one to keep schtum about anything. "Jesus, Michelle. We're not nearly fancy enough for this." The way she says _fancy_  makes it clear she means something completely different. A blush rises to the brunette's cheeks.

"I was actually wondering if there was a place to change my outfit," she manages to ask without too much admission of guilt. Naomi knew the outfit would provoke this reaction from her mum. She was a daft, oblivious cow most of the time, but occasionally she could pick up on things around her and, truthfully, it'd take a blind man not to notice Michelle's choice of attire. Naomi smirks as she follows behind the other two women and into her mum's new flat. When Michelle is upstairs in what is supposedly Naomi's new room, though really it's the guestroom, Gina cocks an eyebrow at her daughter.

"She's certainly a sight for sore eyes, isn't she?"

Naomi shakes her head. "Mum, she's just..." There's nothing Naomi really wants to admit about these personal issues so she sighs. "She wants to make a good impression, is all." That's the least conspicuous way to phrase it, she reckons. Her mum could always be relied on to change a topic of conversation on a whim and luckily she instead seems more interested in other gossip.

"Where's Effy?" Since moving to London, Naomi had often talked about Effy, who prior to the move, had only met Gina once. Part of the older woman's hesitation about Naomi's drastic life U-turn had been due to not being sure who this Effy Stonem even was. "She not kipping here then?"

Naomi explains that Effy and Tony are coming in a day or two, and staying with Sid, not at the Campbell flat. Gina seems a little disappointed in the news but takes it cheerily enough. Michelle joins them soon after, looking much more comfortable in jeans and yellow jacket. Much more Bristol than London High Street. Gina smiles at the new girl and ushers them both into the kitchen for tea. Somehow it all goes much more smoothly than Naomi had anticipated. There's a little something niggling at her, but for the most part, it all seems  _fine_.

 

 

By early evening, Cook's rang twice and insisted that they meet up at Uncle Keith's. The first time Naomi refuses, citing quality time with her mum as a viable alternative. The second attempt Cook makes, Gina's in the room and overhears the conversation and of course insists that Naomi go see her mates. So it's decided. The fact remains, Naomi is partially terrified of seeing who else Cook decides to invite. She supposes there aren't many of their old group remaining in town, but the potential is there for an awkward night of drinking with Cook, Katie and JJ. Not her ideal crowd. Last she saw Katie was at the airport and she distinctly remembers fearing for her life with the amount of hatred that Katie had been directing at her. She's not sure even years apart could have diluted that cesspool. And Naomi could care less about seeing JJ. She hopes it's just Cook. Michelle senses her anxiousness but doesn't say much. Naomi can tell that her girlfriend knows however by the way she touches her softly, and more than usual. She fucking needs to tell Michelle about Emily, especially if Katie is going to be there but the words tangle in her throat each time she starts. Instead, she mentions that Katie was the sister of her ex-best mate from college. It's an almost truth, she reckons. And she's relieved that her mother is nowhere within hearing range of her abominable lie.

Later that night, she and Michelle are rounding the corner and Naomi glances into the pub though the window, scoping out who will possibly be there. She only sees Cook and Katie and isn't sure whether to be grateful or not cos she's still just as nervous about the upcoming encounter. Katie holds grudges like nobody else, with the possible exception of Emily. Naomi pauses at the window, staring. Seeing Katie is like being kicked in the gut and Naomi notes how similar she still is, her smile, her eyes. Suddenly Naomi wants to run. She loves Cook, but she's not certain if this is going to be worth it. Michelle, still pretending to be completely oblivious, grabs her hand and yanks her towards the entrance. She plasters on a reassuring smile but Naomi can't feel anything from it. She's numb. Terrified and numb. It's Michelle who leads them over to the table and Katie's eyes narrow almost immediately, first seeing some random skank coming up to her man, and then worse when she recognises the blonde tagging along with her. Surely Cook told her, didn't he? A smile breaks across his face and he stands up, saying his hellos and pulling Michelle into a familiar hug first and then Naomi, who he graces with kiss on her cheek as well.

"Hi Katie," Naomi says hesitantly and sits down across from Cook carefully. Michelle pulls up a chair and takes a seat across from Katie.

The somewhat-redhead glares. Just glares. Her brown eyes are unmistakably angry and Naomi shifts uncomfortably. This is exactly what she had feared. Cook is glancing back and forth between the two girls but it's Michelle that interrupts and offers her hand to Katie.

"I'm Michelle," she says with ease, a very practised sort of charm dripping from her tone. Michelle's always been an expert at these kind of awkward social gatherings and for that Naomi is more than grateful. She can only imagine what it would have been like if it had been just her, Cook and Katie. The twin looks this stranger over with a judgemental scowl, but accepting what she sees, her own polite smile spreads over her lips.

"Katie," she echoes and shakes Michelle's hand. Katie's looking back and forth to Naomi and then Michelle, piecing together all the clues. Understanding flickers for a moment and an eyebrow arches. She pins Naomi with a look. The blonde pretends not to notice and the other girl surprisingly doesn't push it. Naomi's rather relieved that Katie has let the issue slide, at least for the time being. Cook takes the opportunity to call over to the barmaid, Liv (who looks maybe 18 at a push and has a streak of blue in her jet black hair), and orders them a round of tequila shots and 4 pints of lager. Naomi smiles at the memory and glances at Katie who seems to have felt the same twinge of nostalgia. Them sitting in Keith's, awkwardly acknowledging each other's existence but not quite friends, Katie disliking Naomi, Cook ordering tequila and beer. Except this time there's no cake, vomit or magic tricks to distract anyone. No Effy, no Freddie either. It stings a little with a feeling of lost time, lost innocence. As the young girl delivers their drinks the feeling begins to subside, and they relax slightly.

 

 

The night becomes progressively better the longer they stay. After a few rounds, Katie's asking a million questions about Effy, sometimes throwing in a curious inquiry about Michelle and Naomi's relationship. She and Michelle are getting on quite well considering, and Cook is just basking in the conversation and company. Naomi reckons there might just be hope for the lot of them after all.

It's much to Naomi's surprise when it's Cook that calls it a night first. He smacks his pint glass down on the table and belches. Then he announces that he has work early in the morning and beauty rest is mandatory. Katie has no complaints to this and they agree that it was nice to catch up. It's only when Katie mentions to her boyfriend that Emily's coming to pick them up that Naomi stiffens. Katie glances at her briefly but ignores the reaction. The remaining time passes in a stiff conversation on Naomi's end. Thankfully Michelle is unaffected and carries it for the both of them until Katie's mobile vibrates against the table top.

"Right. We're off," she says, "It was nice meeting you Michelle." Naomi's a little surprised at how genuine the twin sounds. She pushes a sigh of relief past her lips but it's short lived. "See you, Naomi." She nods curtly and quickly exits the pub, trailed by Cook after he gives them his usual goodbye hug and kiss.

Through the partially-fogged glass window, Naomi spots the red hair of the other twin that she had lost so many years ago. Her breath catches and she feels light-headed suddenly. This is the first time she's seen Emily since leaving her. She vaguely hears the noise of the pub around her: the clanging of glassware, chattering voices, the billiard balls smacking each other, Michelle rustling around and getting their jackets. It's sort of in another dimension though, far away cos all she can see is Emily talking to Katie through the window. The second Emily turns to peer in, Naomi's airways constrict and she's pretty sure her heart flops to the bottom of her stomach cavity. Her eyes meet Emily's for only a split second it seems, but it's enough to force the blonde to consider a premature heart attack as a very real possibility for her fate. It's over quickly however in reality. The twins and Cook disappear and Michelle calmly hands over her jacket as if the world hasn't just crashed down all over them. She regards Naomi curiously but doesn't ask anything, especially questions she doesn't want the answer to. The blonde stalks out of the pub and into the late summer night, flagging a taxi soon after, standing in the same place Emily just had been moments before. It's ridiculous how overwhelmed she feels at the moment and nothing seems to be calming her buzzing nerves. When they crawl into the backseat, Michelle leans over and places a chaste kiss on Naomi's cheek. Within seconds, Naomi's pushed her back against the ugly blue pleather seats and slams their lips together, clawing at loose clothing to draw them closer. Michelle makes some sort of weak, muffled protest but gives up under Naomi's intensity.

She can't think about Emily anymore and this sets off her heart-rate to an equally frantic pace, but it's better. More acceptable now.

 

 

 

* * *

Their respective minor hangovers the next morning are easily cured with a big English breakfast at the diner on Filwood and it's there that Naomi rings Cook again, insisting to Michelle that they've done one mum, now it's time Naomi gets to see Michelle's home. She is a little curious -more than a little curious- mainly because Michelle seems to retain such an aversion to the idea. She huffs and puffs and generally becomes of the petulant sort when the issue is broached. But now, with Cook on-duty and more than willing to give them a free lift anywhere (within reason), the older girl's well-worn excuses are obviously too thin. They're going to Ham Green. And that's the end of it. True to form, Michelle is less than impressed when Cook actually does pull up in front of the café with a grin on his face and she bitches redundantly about Naomi's audacity. It falls on purposefully deaf ears. Naomi's never been out there before, and though she knows generally what the area is like, it's still something she wants to see.

Grudgingly, Michelle gives directions to Hart Close and sulks in silence until they pull up outside a gorgeous looking property. Cook makes a whistley sort of sound in appreciation but insists that he has to get back to the city and actual paying punters as much as he would enjoy hanging around the codger posh-o's, as he puts it. As he speeds off, Michelle lets out an irritated sigh at seeing her mother's SUV parked in the drive. She marches up to the front door, and turns quickly to Naomi.

"Don't bring up Abbots Leigh, all right? She'll bait you into it. Just don't or we'll never hear the end of it." It's quite possibly the oddest piece of advice she's ever received.  _Don't mention Abbots Leigh_. Done. For god knows what reason but she's not about to push the subject at the moment, lest be caught mid-discussion by Michelle's mum and then have a ridiculously annoyed girlfriend to deal with for hours on end on top of endless babble about property or some shit. The doorbell chimes inside but no one comes to answer. Michelle tries again, and again, finally resorting to pulling out her keys and letting them into the house. She calls out and receives no answer, eventually fishing out her mobile and sending a quick text. Meanwhile, Naomi is wandering around the ground floor, taking in the immaculate state of the place, and the high-class design. Value on aesthetics apparently runs in the family. Michelle joins her in the conservatory.

"She's in Edinburgh, the stupid cow. I told her I was visiting this weekend." Her voice is angry, exasperated, but there's a hint of sadness there too.

Naomi glances around still. "This is lovely, Chelle."

Michelle shrugs and shakes her head dismissively. "I guess. Her business must be doing well," she says with a hint of resentment and walks out the room, leaving Naomi to jog a little to catch up to her as she ascends the stairs. Michelle's bedroom is pretty unmistakable, with photos adorning (in perfect arrangement) a single corkboard, and various frames and such scattered throughout, all featuring her girlfriend with various other people: Sid and Tony among them. A photoframe with the word "BFFS" on it contains a photo of people Naomi doesn't recognise: a skinny blonde and a shorter black girl. Michelle seems really happy with them, and  _young_. They're standing outside Roundview which brings about a sharp stab of memory. Naomi has to turn away. A rather large pink teddy bear sits proudly in the centre of her bed, the initials T  & M on either paw. Seeing Naomi staring at the stuffed animal, and recognising the names, Michelle quickly sweeps it off her bed and throws it in a corner. She flops down on the mattress. "I don't know why we even came here."

It's Naomi's turn to shrug. She's not entirely sure herself but this is the sort of thing that people do in relationships, yeah? Meeting families, learning about lifestyles and histories. "Just curious, is all." This whole room seems to be stuck in time, with evidence of college everywhere; very little in terms of whatever she got up to in university.

The brunette groans and falls back onto the pillows. "Well, great, Naomi. We're miles from anywhere and there's no point in even being here. I'm sure I could've got my mum to email some photos if it's that intriguing to you."

"Whatever, Chelle," Naomi sighs, not particularly keen on initiating an all out row over the issue. She looks over her shoulder at the sullen girl. "Besides, there's  _plenty_ to do, yeah?" She smirks, her blue eyes gleaming.

It turns out she's right; there's quite a lot to do in house alone, especially one with a cabinet full of expensive liquor, a hot tub out back and one of those fancy dual showers; the type that have two jets so it's doubly enjoyable without one person always shivering. Michelle passes it off as one of her mother's many, many sexual experiments. Michelle's mum having sex of any kind is not exactly the type of image Naomi wants in her brain at the moment, but it fades quickly enough when she hops into the frankly magnificent shower and to be greeted with a lithe, naked, dripping wet girlfriend.

 

She fucks Michelle there of course. But it's strange, different somehow. Every inch of her skin seems to be incredibly sensitized to every pulse, every twitch of the other girl's body. Her ears, despite the torrents of water, are finely attuned to only one sound and her lips can't seem to stop kissing, nipping, running along every surface she can. And she could swear that at one point, Michelle is about to cry as she clings onto Naomi's neck, desperately fighting to keep her balance as her knees weaken. The whole incident is odd however, mostly because it's so slow and deliberate. Maybe it's because they're taking their time, or possibly because even something as simple as a shower wasn't a luxury usually afforded to anyone who lives in a houseful of other people, especially people like Tony Stonem. But the sex is so careful, not gentle but not rushed this time. Naomi can't explain it really cos it's unfamiliar, frighteningly unexpected. Her memory snaps back to summers ago, in Bristol, home alone with nothing but time and red hair and love in her hands. Her heart sputters a little and long-lost words tickle incessantly at her throat as she looks at Michelle, kisses her hard as she comes down. Along with the taste of gin and very faint lip-gloss, she swallows the urge to say something, especially that one pervasive thing that she's not ready to feel. The idea of this unbidden wave of something distinctly resembling  _love_  toys dangerously with her sanity at the moment. She pushes it aside, gulps it down with determination. She bites a little too hard on Michelle's bottom lip in the process.

The moment they step out of the shower and pull ridiculously fluffy towels around their bodies, Naomi feels uneasy. She sees Emily flash before her eyes and quickly turns to face Michelle instead, to find her ground. It's only when they make it back to her bedroom and Naomi finds herself on her back with Michelle's mouth leaving a slippery trail down her torso, inching lower past her belly button, that it begins to fade away again. She looks away, squeezes her eyes shut against the garish pink teddy bear in her peripheral vision with Tony's name on it. Shortly after it's over, Michelle picks up her mobile and dials Sid's number as they lounge under her duvet. She's avoiding something as well. That's clear enough.

He's coming to give them a lift back to the city. Naomi says nothing. Bites her own lip this time, too hard.

 

 

 

* * *

As Michelle locks the door behind them, after walking through the empty, lonely house, she mutters, "I don't like it here." Sid honks impatiently at them. Naomi continues to try to push away memories of Emily and the feeling that she should have said something to Michelle earlier. She should have said  _something_. Anything.

By the time they're back downtown, the air seems lighter and the three of them are chatting like nothing is amiss. Michelle had been more than pleased when she had first found out that Naomi and Sid knew each other, and it made everything that much less awkward now. And Naomi's sort of glad Sid is around, if she's honest, even if half the time they're out he alternates between looking bored and horny in their company. He asks a lot of inappropriate questions which manage to lighten the mood considerably with their foolishness. It's during their meal at an old haunt of Sid and Michelle's that Naomi receives a text from Effy informing her that she and Tony are on the train. Freddie's memorial is tomorrow. Reality smacks her hard again with its unyielding weight. Michelle glances over, intertwines their fingers atop the table, and continues her conversation with Sid. Naomi squeezes her girlfriend's hand and tries to focus again. Her thoughts keep coming back around to Emily, and everything she hasn't said.

Her problems don't lessen when she gets a call from Cook insisting that she and Michelle join them at Motion tonight for some sort of reunion party. He dances around the subject of Emily's presence which is a dead give-away that she will be there. Michelle of course thinks it's a brilliant plan and her enthusiasm is tainted with some strange aura of desperation.  _Distraction_.

 

 

 

* * *

Motion is darker and hotter and more suffocating than she ever remembers it being. They're all sitting around a table, yelling a conversation above the thumping music and casually drinking. It's rather grown-up, she thinks. If maybe they'd been at a better club not surrounded by teenagers, that is. Michelle is bookending the lot of them, shouting something quite frankly boring in Katie's general direction. The two of them seem to have some odd sort of connection and it's a little unnerving. Naomi leans back, out of Michelle's line of wild gesticulation and finds Cook already relaxing there too. On his other side is Katie, and beside her, the unmistakable Emily Fitch. They've barely said more than a sentence to each other since the night began and it's precisely the kind of awkward, stifling situation she was hoping to avoid. Effy wasn't interested in joining them tonight, understandably, but Tony mentioned coming along later if he felt like it. Cook glances over at her, bringing his drink to his mouth and guzzling almost half of it down. He grins and Naomi just rolls her eyes, choosing to look over at Katie's animated response to whatever bollocks she and Michelle are talking. Emily's easy to see, as she is on the other end, sitting like the other head of the table, complimentary to Michelle. Or perhaps rivalling. She looks just as equally bored and tired. Before she has much time to think about it, Cook's shoved what's left of his drink smack into her face, obviously a sort of invitation to finish it. She takes it cautiously and raises an eyebrow at him. He laughs.

"Don't worry, Naomikins! Neck it. It's clean, man," he affirms with a smirk and a sniff and she's not sure if that was supposed to make it seem more genuine. Regardless, the assurance fails, but she drinks anyway. Who really cares? Drugs or not, this night couldn't get any stranger. In a matter of seconds suddenly Cook is participating in the girls' conversation, leaning forward and simultaneously waving wildly towards the bar, which is rather useless considering the crowd blocking any view of the bartenders. Michelle pauses, and looks sideways at her, a questioning furrow of her brow breaking out across her face. Naomi shrugs and slides the empty glass onto the table. The older girl scoots closer, her left hand slipping under the tabletop to rest on Naomi's thigh, giving her a quick squeeze. She feels relieved that her girlfriend has finally noticed her discomfort, or boredom. Michelle's attention turns back to the conversation as she says something to Katie and laughs, never moving her hand. However, as soon as her chuckle dies out, she leans back and over. Her grasp is slightly tighter, and Naomi can feel the warm breath along the curve of her neck and ear.

"I'll get you a drink; what do you want?" she asks in a particularly sultry way considering the banality of the question. "My treat." Her voice is gravelly and Naomi feels the sound vibrate towards her toes in a pleasant way. But she remembers Emily at the other side of the table and immediately feels hot and uncomfortable. She fidgets briefly, studiously avoiding looking in Emily's direction before turning to Michelle. "Rum?"

Michelle smiles, genuinely and without ulterior motives. "Done." She slides out from the table and snakes her way through the crowd, disappearing from sight. Only then does Naomi chance a look at Emily, offering a small, shy smile. Emily returns the gesture, but stiffly. Katie starts up about something else and Naomi has to try her damnedest to even give the slightest shit what she's talking about. Somehow both Emily and Cook are suddenly chatting up a storm with her and Naomi feels like she's right fucking back in college, sitting quietly and ticking off all the possible ways she could blow up the venue in order to end this night already.

When Michelle returns, she has Tony with her and a grin plastered on her face. "Look who I found!"

No one of their year recognise Tony and they all wave hello politely, no one really knowing who this lanky boy is. He catches on pretty quickly and goes around introducing himself to her friends. For the first time all evening, Naomi finds herself on the verge of laughter at Katie's stunned face; her mouth hanging half-open and her stare fixated on the Stonem boy. He sits down purposely close to Emily, and that damn sly smile slips over his features as he talks to the Fitch twins.  _Stupid, clueless Tony,_  Naomi thinks, and smiles. She realises though that she's staring at Emily when Michelle interrupts her thoughts by sliding a cold rum and coke in front of her, but she doesn't sit down. Naomi looks up, gauging whatever the hell is going on in her girlfriend's head. She's sipping on her drink and watching Emily and Tony as well, but unlike Naomi, she seems a little dazed; confused even. Something snaps her out of it as a thundering bassline rocks the walls. A smile stretches over her face.

"Tune! I'm going to dance," she tells the blonde and wanders off, drink in-hand towards the throbbing dancefloor. Emily giggles loudly at something Tony says and Naomi feels completely isolated from whatever is going on. First her girlfriend fucks off, then everything is turned upside down. Tony and Emily? She stands up, and punches Cook lightly. "Bar?" He shakes his head and she realises he's holding her drink, and it's half empty already.

Prick.

She smirks and scoffs good-naturedly. She weaves a path towards the bar, resting her elbows on it and waits to be served. An extraordinary 7 quid later, she has her drink. It's cooler over here, not so suffocating. She wanders further into the noise to the main room and from her vantage point, she picks out Michelle dancing away. Sipping her drink, she watches, suddenly rapt with the fluid movements of her girlfriend writhing to the overwhelming beats, the sub-bass infiltrating her senses completely. There are other people around her but Naomi isn't concerned about any strangers. She knows Michelle better than that. Her loose black top drapes over her, the lack of material allowing Naomi to rake her eyes up the smooth skin of Michelle's waist, her hot pink bra glowing in the UV lights. A small smile creeps across her lips unexpectedly and a flush of warmth begins to spread out from her abdomen as she watches the brunette's movements. It's hypnotizing and suddenly Naomi feels hot for an entirely different reason than before.

"She's  _really_  pretty."

The voice makes Naomi jump and she looks over to see Emily beside her, staring in the same direction. "Yeah," Naomi agrees and scans the crowd again to find her girlfriend. They stand in silence, allowing the music to penetrate their skin and rewire their heartbeats. Naomi takes a rather large gulp of her drink. She's not sure whether this moment is incredibly awkward or just incredibly strange. Probably both.

"Not really your type though, huh?" Emily asks eventually as the song seamlessly transitions into another.

For some reason, Naomi finds the question to be scornful and she's on the defensive before she can even recognise it. There's still so much unresolved tension between she and Emily. "The hell's that supposed to mean?" Pretty girls and Naomi don't go together? She's not sure if it's supposed to have been so snide, but Naomi feels as if it's berating her for something and she's not sure what. The confusion just makes her more irritated.

Emily shrugs, immune to Naomi's little outbursts by now, even after all these years. "Just saying is all. She's... You know what I mean, Naoms. Different than I would have thought you'd go for."

"Oh, leave it," Naomi snaps. "She's clever, and gorgeous, and... You don't even know her."

"Naomi, Jesus. Relax. And, I know enough. Trust me."

Naomi glares down at the twin, trying to figure out what that comment was supposed to mean. She wants to inform Emily that they have not been together for nearly 2 years, and as such, Emily has no say in who Naomi feels like dating. But the words never come out of course. She's forced into a familiar submissive silence. It's sort of comforting in a way. A disturbing, nostalgic kinda way. "Whatever."

"Don't 'whatever' me. Even after years, I know you, Naomi. You haven't changed. And I know what all this," she gestures towards Michelle, "is about so drop the act." Emily isn't even remotely joking and it upsets Naomi.

Michelle is making her way off the dancefloor and spots Naomi and Emily. She breezes up to them and runs a hand down Naomi's arm. She's so close Naomi can feel the heat coming off her in waves, the slight sheen of sweat re-activating her perfume and it travels right up her nostrils and straight to her core. And all she can feel is insanely awkward since Emily is still beside her. Michelle's smirking suggestively, as if she's reading her mind easily. She swallows hard.

"Great track, yeah?" Michelle asks them both, as if the last few seconds of tension hadn't even happened. Emily nods, and purses her lips. The blonde knows she's likely just as uncomfortable, and a little part of her is excited by that. She still has the power to get under Emily's skin. She grins to herself, trying to ignore the near-constant tug of her body towards Michelle. If only to be polite to Emily, of course. Part of her feels like it's being torn in half. Michelle grabs Naomi's drink and tilts it back, running her tongue over her lips very intentionally and Naomi is simply rapt by the action. Emily shifts uncomfortably, now caught in the unfortunate position of knowing she should leave but not having a polite way to excuse herself at the moment. Naomi chuckles inside her mind, feeling strangely confident now that she seems to wield the power for once. Michelle stretches back and pushes the empty glass onto the bar, watching both girls intently. If Naomi didn't know better, she'd suspect Michelle had something entirely filthy going through her head at this exact second, and it isn't simply about Naomi. The blonde glances at Emily then back at Michelle, who meets her gaze steadily. Without a second thought, Naomi grasps her hand and turns to Emily abruptly.

"We're going to get some fresh air." Her voice sounds hard and strained even to her own ears, but she doesn't have much time to consider why as Michelle tugs on her hand insistently and she's being pulled outside into the warm summer night. Naomi stumbles, suddenly feeling the liquor hitting her system full-force. The world is a little woozy and blurry now, but Michelle is there in front of her. That much she knows for certain. They hustle to a dark corner of an alcove around the side of the warehouse, away from the brightly lit patio, and Naomi wastes no time pouncing. She slams Michelle up against the cold stone wall, ignoring any protests that may have arisen. She doesn't suspect Michelle has any anyway. Her mouth moves greedily against the other girl's warm neck, feeling the heat and pulse under the thin skin. Naomi registers roving hands against her hot skin as Michelle's want is just as apparent as her own, nailing digging in and drawing their bodies flush together. It isn't the first time Naomi thanks God or whatever for Michelle's tendency to wear these sorts of tops. Her own eager hands slide easily over hips and curves, snaking up to press into soft breasts, before slipping one further down. Michelle pulls Naomi's mouth away with both hands, and kisses her firmly, and a little desperately instead.

It's odd, a little disconcerting almost, cos they had never behaved like this before. In the loo, sure. But never  _quite_ like this, outside, like wild animals. Naomi experienced it with Emily; that completely overwhelming desire, an uncontrollable urge to just get as filthy and close as possible regardless of location. It's sucking up all her energy and her senses are in overdrive as she feels Michelle's tongue slick in her mouth and their bodies undulating in perfect synchrony. Her knees feel weak and she tries to pass it off as the alcohol, but knows better. She pushes up against the older girl to compensate.

Never. They'd never done this before, not like this. It feels both fiercely familiar and equally bizarre.

It's ripping her in two.

She returns with furious determination to Michelle's neck, sucking and biting in exactly the right way to evoke a series of moans that she knows Michelle keeps well-hidden. All she feels is fingers raking through her short hair, nails dragging down her arms, around, everywhere. Naomi's fingers find their under the waistband of her girlfriend's jeans, easily finding what she was seeking. A simultaneous moan bubbles to the surface, and suddenly Naomi is struck with the image of Emily. And it's not just a fleeting picture; it sticks and floats in front of her eyes, blocking out reality with a ghostly, disturbing kind of nostalgia. So she squeezes her eyes shut, finds Michelle's lips with her own on instinct alone and draws the older girl's bottom lip between her teeth as her fingers rub, probably a little rougher than necessary, against Michelle's clit. It feels almost inhumanly satisfying but Emily's face refuses to stop swimming in front of her closed eyelids, every pant or moan Michelle makes is transformed into that huskier Fitch sound instead. Bile begins rising in Naomi's throat because she's not high, she's knows what's happening in reality. She's more than aware that it is actually Michelle she's fucking so ungracefully against a nightclub wall, but bloody Emily keeps pervading her senses, gripping on and refusing to let go. The feeling of being torn in half only gets stronger and stronger with every minuscule movement; every passing second feels like another sharp stabbing pain in her chest, tearing it right through the core.

Michelle clings to Naomi's top, almost frantically, as her hips buck up of their own free will, her head thrown back allowing Naomi ample access to the ultra-sensitive skin along her neck. She's close. Visions of Emily may be assaulting her senses, but she can read Michelle's responses like second nature. She braces a thigh between Michelle's legs, surprising herself at the passing realisation of her own remarkable wetness against her pants. Fucks sake. The knowledge only makes things a million times worse, because she's not even sure what exactly is turning her on to such a degree. Michelle or Emily? The fact she's unsure provides enough motivation for vomit to rise even higher. It should be Chelle.  _Please let it be Chelle,_  she pleads with herself but to no avail because nothing ceases, not the images nor the confusion.

She can't, can't  _can't_. It's too,  _too_  fucking much. It's frenzied and hard, aggressive and desperate even but holy fuck does it sting with raw honesty, scraping roughly against her heart. Burning desire, but coupled with the agony of confusion. She can't reconcile the resounding feeling rushing through her body with the illusions floating in her vision. It's borderline insanity, she thinks. It fucking feels like it. The immensity of it all is terrifying, and its questionable origins are even more devastating. And it's all too fucking familiar.

She snaps before anything has the chance to spill out of her. She roughly pushes back, yanking her hand out of a very astonished Michelle's pants and steps back, putting cool riverside air between them. The image of Emily vanishes just as abruptly and she only sees her girlfriend, standing against the stone wall, still breathing heavily but so bewildered that it only works to break Naomi's heart further.

"I'm sorry," Naomi blurts out in a voice that sounds both timid and desperate. Michelle fixes up her jeans and the glistening of unshed tears is unmistakable in her eyes. For what seems like a very long minute, she refuses to meet Naomi's gaze.

"Was it...," she trails off, unsure if it's a question she should even be asking. "Did I do something?" Sometimes Naomi forgets how fragile Michelle is on the subject of sex. How, regardless of how talented she is, she's still stupidly self-conscious. No doubt a leftover gift from Tony.  _Fucking Tony_. The blonde shakes her head defiantly and watches Michelle's composure return in bits and her imploring gaze now burning holes into Naomi. "What the fuck then?"

"I can't," Naomi manages to stutter. She thought once the visions of Emily faded, she wouldn't feel so anxious and torn, but having to explain herself seems only to have increased the sensation ten-fold. She just wants to collapse into a heap, block out the world and forget all about the last 10 minutes. Michelle Richardson is not the kind of person to just let things slide however. She's never let Naomi get away with anything in the course of both their brief friendship and current relationship. The guilt rips at her chest with strong, ragged claws and she chokes out a breath.

"Chelle," she pleads, "I can't. I don't...know. I just..." The words aren't even forming sentences any longer as her emotions are finally breaking through her valiant resolve. She can't talk about Emily, she's terrified of what that means. "It's  _me_ ," she finally chokes out, barely restraining a sob of regret. Michelle just stares at her for a moment before her face softens.

She shakes her head almost sadly. "Jesus, Nome. How much have you had to drink? You're a mess tonight." Quite unexpectedly, Michelle reaches out, takes both her hands and pulls the younger girl close, wrapping her arms around heaving shoulders. Naomi isn't sure if it's honest ignorance, but she doesn't argue with Michelle's assertion about the cause of her uncharacteristic breakdown. Maybe the alcohol  _was_ a mitigating factor. No way to know for certain really. Yeah? The blonde grabs onto loose fabric and buries her face in Michelle's warmth, the older girl's pulse strong and sure against her cheek. The tears spring free eventually.

Naomi doesn't see Emily emerge from the club, wander around, spot the girls and stare curiously. Michelle does notice however, and holds Naomi tighter, whispers calming nonsense in her ear, but doesn't take her eyes off Emily. The redhead meets the hardened stare and takes a moment to process the scene. Michelle doesn't have to say a word, the look in her eyes is warning enough for Emily not to interfere. Emily hesitates, obviously considering her options, but eventually her shoulders sag in admission of defeat. She gives up and turns back towards the club, with a troubled, knowing look in her eyes.

"I love you," Michelle whispers insistently like it's the easiest, most natural thing in the world, and a racking sob jars Naomi's body. It's not right. She can't say that; they've never said it before. It shouldn't be like this.

She pushes out of Michelle's embrace abruptly again. "I  _can't_ , Chelle," she states, verging on the cusp of desperation, willing her to just understand.

The other girl scowls momentarily. "You  _can't_? Can't what? What's that even mean?" For her part, Michelle is bordering on livid now. It's a bumpy roller-coaster ride with Naomi most days, but this- this is just ludicrous.

"Don't." Naomi says it harshly; it's a strong warning. They both know it's not something that would be pleasant, but it may be necessary.  _Please don't make me say it_ , her eyes plead. But it's dark outside and Naomi's face is half-hidden from the barely perfunctory lighting so there's no way to know if Michelle sees the begging there.  _Don't make me do this._

"Don't?" Michelle scoffs derisively. "Right. It's fine. I get it. You think I'm stupid?" She shrugs, but that small movement alone is obviously full of resentment and anger. "Go on. Go see her then." She waves towards the smoking patio out back, no doubt where Emily is loitering.

The strict demand almost knocks Naomi off her feet as she physically feels the impact of those words. Michelle knows; she's always known. "That's not it," Naomi argues weakly. It's a half-truth at any rate. She doesn't  _want_ to go see Emily. She just can't  _unsee_  her at the moment. There's a very definite difference but the explanation seems far too complex for her to work out for herself, let alone drunkenly explain it to her furious girlfriend. "That's not what I want."

An eyebrow is raised in disbelief. This encounter is illuminating all too well the legend of fierce bitch Michelle Richardson. Even Katie Fitch may have found a challenge here. She's almost inhumanely cold and hard, in attitude of course. I can only be figurative cos Naomi's pretty certain she couldn't actually touch her right now if her life depended on it. There's just too large a wall there, the space between them increasing exponentially with every passing minute.

"What do you want then, Nome?"

 _I don't know!_ That seems like the most truthful thought she's had all night long. Because really, she's pretty fucking sure that she has what she wants, needs even, but then she always wants more. Or maybe it's that she has too much. Like when you're in the newsagent's staring at the extensive selection of different sweets and you want them all, and you can't have them all but there's just too much choice. It's debilitating. And irritating for anyone who's never had such a problem before. How ungrateful can a person be?

"You." The word finally manages to make it past her lips, but it's so quiet and hesitant that it's almost a question.

"Do you love me then?"

Naomi is immediately struck with the brutality and unfairness of the question. As if that's really something you just bluntly ask another person. To her, there are two options. Lie and say yes, or say no and break her heart. She didn't really consider that normally there was a third option: saying yes and meaning it. "Please, Chelle." Avoidance may be a fourth option. But Michelle stands firm, her eyes piercing even in the darkness, challenging and dangerous. She's not accepting distractions. "I can't..."

The barely audible and unfinished statement hangs heavily in the air between their bodies. The older girl appears to wait a little bit longer for Naomi to expound on the idea, but when nothing is forthcoming, she clenches her eyes shut for a moment, her mouth set in a hard, unhappy line. When she opens them again, nothing has changed. Eventually, with Naomi staring at her like a deer caught in headlights, she shakes her head, pain etching itself across her features so deeply that it's plainly visible in the shadows.

A slight sneer arises, but the disappointed kind rather than the spiteful kind. "Can't," she repeats in apparent acceptance. The word rolls around, bouncing off the stone and back again. "Okay." But Michelle sounds the furthest thing from okay, and she looks completely rattled. "I've done this before. I won't make the same mistake twice."

Naomi has a suspicion that Michelle is speaking about Tony. She's not sure why, but the words are said in a longingly nostalgic kind of way that the older girl only adopts when speaking about her college years. And Naomi's well aware how that epic love story ended up.

Michelle sloppily points over her shoulder, waving around inaccurately. "I'm just gonna... go, yeah? I'm heading back to London tomorrow."

The terror rises in Naomi's mind, screaming and shouting at her, deafening her inside as Michelle turns her back. She attempts to take some kind of action, to stop Michelle's determined movement away but she's frozen again. Just like fucking always. "Chelle," she tries, sounding more manic that she would have liked. "Chelle!"

The brunette doesn't even pause, or turn back. She offers only a flippant wave goodbye over her shoulder as she heads towards the road. It almost looks as if she gave her the finger.

"Michelle!"

The effort is clearly futile now.

It takes until Michelle is completely out of sight before Naomi regains the function of her legs. She doesn't run however. She's never been much of a runner  _towards_  things, and she's not really accustomed to people running from her. She turns instead, feeling eyes on her. Emily's standing 20 feet away, just staring. Her mouth quirks into a sad smile, far too sad a smile for someone who is even remotely pleased with the situation. She walks closer to Naomi, cocking her head to the side, studying everything.

"You're fucked," she states plainly.

Naomi isn't sure what exactly is fucked up this time. Emily could be referring to many, many ways in which Naomi feels fucked. She tilts her head back, gazing into the clear night sky and releases a huge sigh. The breath itself trembles with emotion. "Emily." It comes out with unhappy resignation as she faces the redhead.

"Fucked," Emily repeats more staunchly, her gaze turning to one of pity and remorse. "Completely."

Naomi bows her head in reluctant acceptance of her fate. Emily's hand slips into her cold, sweaty one and she does her best to stop from flinching at the contact.

 

 

 

* * *

The taxi ride seems longer than normal and despite the occasional comforting pat of Emily's hand, Naomi continues to merely stare silently at the blur of passing streetlamps and the occasional teenager stumbling drunkenly towards someplace else. She feels like she needs to explain it all to Emily, as if she owes her that even though she's fully aware that it's not really a requirement. But of course she opts instead for silence and Emily doesn't push.  _For once,_  Naomi muses and almost chuckles at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. Now that she really does want to talk, Emily doesn't pry incessantly. And there's no hope in hell that the blonde will volunteer any information. She's not sure if she's ever shared  _anything_  without -sometimes relentless- coaxing.

The car pulls up in front of Gina's house and Naomi immediately launches herself out onto the pavement. She sways a little and braces against the roof as she waits for Emily. But Emily never follows her out. Ducking down, Naomi peers in and blinks. It's the only thing she can think to do because she'd pretty much assumed what was going to happen tonight.

Emily just stares back, her brown eyes seeming larger and softer than usual in the dimness. "Where's Michelle, Naoms?"

Then it all clicks. Her girlfriend, possibly but most likely ex-girlfriend, is probably inside that very house. In her bed. Maybe she's not though. Emily tilts her head and presses her lips into a sad line. "Go to bed, Naomi. Ring me in the morning, yeah?"

"But–," the blonde starts but is interrupted by the flimsy wave from Emily.

Red hair floats around her shoulder as she shakes her head. "Tomorrow."

She doesn't say anything more before reaching over and pulling the taxi door closed much to Naomi's surprise. She watches it speed off in the direction of Katie's place. When the tail lights eventually fade from sight, she sighs loudly. It has always been something she suspected, but now it was completely evident without question:  _Emily Fitch is a better person than she could ever be_. Glancing up at the bedroom window of her mother's home, she feels anxiety creep under her skin. She blames the chilly night air for the trembling that begins in her limbs and slowly works its way along her spine.

 

 

The room is dark by the time she eventually manages to summon the courage to open her own bedroom door. She can hear breathing off to the side and she has no doubt who it is. It's still rather surprising that Michelle would be here, she thinks. She must know people still in Bristol that she would have rather spent the night with. Naomi shuffles across the floor so she doesn't trip over any cloaked hazards. Stripping down, she slides in next to the only warmth in the entire room. Her over-sensitive hearing picks up on the change in breathing from the other girl. Michelle's awake, at least partially so. But she doesn't say anything, doesn't even move as Naomi settles down into the pillows. God, it's so fucking familiar. She'd never wanted to be back to this dark, hurtful place, but like a rubber-band, time seems to be snapping back on itself. She doesn't see a haunting vision of Emily now. Just the spectre of her own continual failure.

The uncertainty and anxiousness keep Naomi awake most of the night, even once Michelle has fallen back into a deep sleep.

When she awakens the next morning, the sun is beaming through the window, covering everything with a pleasant warm glow and Naomi wonders if it's an omen. She catches herself crossing her fingers in a wish. She sits up and manages to be shocked  _again_ , that Michelle is still next to her. She may be turned away, but she's still here and that's something. Sliding back down under the duvet, she quietly watches the rise and fall of the older girl's bare skin. Steady. Constant. A concept Naomi has difficulty with yet Michelle seems to possess in abundance.

"Chelle?" she tries softly, hoping that the bright morning is indeed a good omen of the day to come.

The response takes a while to drift into the air, and it's almost too quiet. It's unsettling how distinctly un-Michelle-like it sounds. "Don't."

And it's eerily familiar to their previous night's argument. A simple command. Maybe words are too much, too complicated and imprecise. Naomi reckons that is one of her biggest problems really. There just aren't enough words, and she doesn't have the ability to weave those ones she has the same way someone like Effy does, into intricate designs full of meaning and consequence. Naomi's visceral, tactile, clumsy. Useless with words when they actually do mean something but clever with them when they're meaningless. Not like Michelle who bathes in languages, wraps herself in human communication, dances words along her tongue even in awkward social situations. They're opposites in that way: Michelle needs to hear words, Naomi has difficulty forming them. But even then, Michelle occasionally fails too, especially when everything becomes complicated and Naomi thinks back to their first night, how Michelle had behaved, kissed her as a way to beg for acceptance, attention, love. Sometimes it's fine; these strings of verbs and nouns are fucking cumbersome. She reaches out tentatively and runs her fingers along the smooth dip of Michelle's waist. It's heavy enough to imply intent but light enough to be hesitant, as if she can pass the apologies pumping through her blood out through her fingertips. She allows this invisible regret a moment to seep in. Michelle does nothing, ignoring the attempt but to her credit, she doesn't flinch away either. Naomi lets out a laboured breath and flops onto her back again.

 _Hopeless_. Emily was right. She's fucked. Can't want what she has, can't have what she wants. It strikes her rather abruptly that at this moment, she wants Michelle more than ever. Her chest is tight and heavy, her heartbeats seemingly calling out for an answer. The echo is never returned. She just pleads silently for things to revert back, time to reverse and reconcile. If there's some deity up there, perving on her private thoughts, maybe it'll help her out. Maybe she just always wants what she can't have, and that's just the way it will always be. She rolls over so they lie back to back, but she doesn't consider ways to rectify the situation. She just wallows in the lies that the sunshine told her.

 

 

Michelle is gone when she reawakens. Somehow she'd managed not only to fall back asleep, but to sleep so soundly that it allowed the other girl a perfect escape. She rolls over quickly, glancing at the floor. Her clothes are no longer strewn over the chair, everything is packed up neatly in the pink overnight bag. Naomi is astonished at how heavy she must have been sleeping for Michelle to not only sneak away, but pack all her things as well. The only good sign is that she's not actually on a train back to London yet. She's somewhere in Bristol.

Pulling on a jumper and jeans, she goes about her usual morning routine, almost convincing herself that if maybe she pretends things are okay, they are. Her brush catches in a tangle from the previous night's experience outside Motion. She winces but not from the tug of her hair. Unsurprisingly, Gina is nowhere to be found in the house when she sits down at the kitchen table for some breakfast. She pulls out her mobile finally and curses the shaking of her fingers already. She hovers over Michelle's number but resists. Instead she scrolls through to find Effy's.

It rings. Endlessly. Fucking Effy. She tries Tony and gets his aggravatingly cocky answerphone message. She hangs up. Next comes Sid. There's no answer there either. Fuck's sake. She begins texting him a message, asking if he's seen Michelle. It shouldn't be shocking when she receives no response to that either. She feels as if the entire world has got some memo not to communicate with Naomi Campbell because she's a giant sloppy useless cunt. It's down to the two people most embroiled in her personal drama. Truth be told, she's not really feeling up to speaking with Emily now that she's no longer off her face. It's pathetic really when she realises she just wants Michelle to come by and they can lie about in bed and watch a DVD with the volume down low. Something easy, comfortable and quite frankly with a minimum of talking so she can quell the throbbing of her hangover.

 _Chelle_. She presses talk. Ringing. It's on the 5th ring by the time she gets an answer.

"What?" No hullo, no pleasantries. In fact, Michelle doesn't seem at all pleased which shouldn't be as surprising as it is. But her voice cracks in a way that makes Naomi feel incredibly guilty. Either she had just been, or she was about to, cry. In all honesty, Naomi is a little taken aback.

She hesitates. "Chelle, please. Can you just–?"

"Can  _I_  what, Naomi? What can  _I_  do for  _you_?" There is the nasty side of Michelle that thus far Naomi's been fairly lucky not to have directed at her specifically. She knew it existed, but that really it was for emergencies only, mostly Tony-related ones, so said Effy. Sort of.

Naomi has no response. She wants to plead perhaps, but restrains herself. She doesn't reckon it'll do much good any how. Not at this stage. She fucked it up and begging now is just too beneath them both.

"You just don't get it, do you?" Michelle asks sadly. She sighs and the younger girl can hear the waver in it. "I can't do any more. I've said it all. It's your turn."

"Chelle, c'mon," Naomi tries. It's a pretty ineffective tactic. "You know I–."

Michelle interrupts again. It's sort of a good thing since Naomi hadn't really thought much beyond those words anyway. "I don't. Not anymore. I don't know anything."

"Please don't do this."

She can hear the deep intake of breath on the other end of the line. "What are we doing, Nome?" It's not very reassuring to realise they're probably equally confused and fumbling. The blind leading the blind.

The blonde doesn't have an answer. She's never really had a clue. She glances up, searching the spackled ceiling for an answer that doesn't exist. The silence says enough for Michelle and the line goes dead. There's a hesitation moving the mobile from her ear, as if in a second the line will reconnect and all will be forgiven. It doesn't happen however and eventually Naomi, defeated, ends her side of the call. She flips through her contacts and settles on the only person she both blames and feels most comfortable with in this situation.

As it rings through to Emily's mobile, she wipes a few tears angrily from her cheek and takes a deep breath. She won't cry. She won't. Not yet. She needs distraction. She needs to talk. She needs Emily.

 

 

 

* * *

They've been doing nothing really for the better part of an hour. Just wandering around the streets of Bristol, chatting like old friends which should feel rather disconcerting considering their still very palpable history. Nothing has been said about the events of the previous night and it's a nice intermission. Naomi knows that it will come to that in time, but for now, she feels like she's reconnecting with a part of her own past that had been such a strong influence, in perhaps the wrong ways. She feels like things are settling into place. Maybe there's a new future. Emily strolls beside her, munching on a Frosties cereal bar and sipping a Coke, and occasionally pausing to say something either terribly insightful and mature, or completely cheeky. This is nice. Like in college when they'd spend hours lolling about on her bedroom floor, talking nonsense and simply enjoying each other's company. Before it all went to shit. Naomi tosses her coffee cup into a nearby bin as they round the corner to her street.

"So Cook and your sister, yeah? What's that like?"

Emily chuckles and scrunches up her wrapper. "Mental. Never seen two people worse or better for each other. It's a gas really."

Naomi considers the comments. "So they get on then?"

Emily stares at her curiously for a moment. "Of course. Really well. What's the point otherwise?" She pauses in thought. "Most of the time anyway. It can be rough sometimes. It  _is_  Katie, right."

"Right," Naomi agrees distractedly. She kicks at some pebbles along the pavement and watches them roll away. Emily takes the opportunity to finally press the subject that they have both been avoiding.

"That's just what happens, though. It's hard sometimes. Doesn't mean it's hopeless."

Naomi eyes latch onto Emily's quickly, picking up on the change in direction of the conversation as they walk up to the front gate of her mother's house. "Doesn't it?" She sighs and looks to the sky, taking a seat on the front wall. Emily slides down beside her, watching the blonde sadly.

"Where's Michelle?"

The name appears to sting Naomi and she winces at the sound. She presses her lips together and shakes her head slowly. A shrug of her shoulders is her only response. Emily nods to herself and gazes into the distance.

"Maybe it's better, Naoms. She's not really, like, the right kind of person for you."

The suggestion achieves its desired reaction and Naomi spins to glare at Emily, who is still looking elsewhere. "Don't say that. You don't know. You  _can't_ know that." Her tone is incredibly defensive and indignant, yet the sadness she's been holding in all afternoon suddenly seems to choke her up by the end of her last sentence.

There's a hint of a smirk on Emily's lips that Naomi can see from her angle. It's a little infuriating honestly. She was  _testing_. Naomi groans at the realisation. "Christ, Ems." Emily sips her Coke again with a weakly suppressed, cheeky grin. Eventually she turns to the blonde.

"What happened last night?" She waits for a moment. "She left you."

Naomi shrugs. "Yeah, that's about it."

"But what did  _you_  do?" There's not really much point in arguing with the assumption, because, as usual, it was Naomi's fault. She should just wear a placard that says "Blame it on me", sign a contract at the beginning of every new relationship that informs the other party that if things get fucked up, it's probably going to be her fault. It would save a lot of time most likely. She sighs, even longer than before.

"I couldn't do it," she states.

Emily takes a moment to think about the response. "Oh." She knows. It's just a habit, a pattern that Naomi follows and there's not really much sense in assuming otherwise. Think horses, not zebras when you hear hoof beats and all that.

The blonde gives a small nod, assuring Emily that whatever she's thinking is probably correct. It was a little peculiar in a way. Both Michelle and Naomi seemed to have their own inabilities. But whereas Michelle's seemed to be manifested more often in the physical side, Naomi's were emotional. Stilted, either way.

Emily finally breaks the silence. "Why not?"

She's answered with yet another shrug and a sigh from Naomi. Useless. She feels useless all over again. Emily shifts a little in her seat.

"Do you really not love her, or are you just afraid to let yourself love her?" she asks softly, prodding Naomi a little bit more.

Naomi scoffs immediately, as if the assertion is preposterous. In her eyes, it kind of is. Love can't be held back by pure will alone.

There's a small chuckle from the redhead and Naomi realises she must have said that last bit out loud. Her face flushes but Emily either doesn't notice, or pretends not to see. "Naoms, if you're anything, it's inhumanly wilful. You do get that right?" She pauses and bites down on her bottom lip briefly as she stares out at the street. "Especially when you're scared." The sadness is all too clear in the comment. "Sometimes I think maybe your name should be one of the synonyms for 'repression' in the dictionary."

Naomi turns to stare at Emily, who is still blankly gazing across the street. "Shut up."

Emily shrugs, unconvinced by Naomi's obviously persuasive argument. "Think about it. I've never met anyone as scared to feel happiness as much as you. Not everything good causes pain, you know." She pauses and shrugs again. "Most of it does. But you're so conflicted even now, it's..." She trails off and part of Naomi wants to hear the rest of Emily's impromptu psychoanalysis. The other half of her would rather not be made aware of yet another shortcoming of her personality, especially from an ex-girlfriend. She considers her mother: her lasting inability to really let them be a family, the fear of it falling to pieces again and how their happiness always seemed purposely placed just out of reach. Usually thanks to perpetual distractions and feeble, often false, justifications. Emily turns to her then, and offers a small smile.

"You've got to let it go."

The snort that erupts from Naomi is sudden and loud enough to cause Emily to jump a little in her seat. "You're letting your Psychology course get to your head."

Emily glances down and fiddles with her Coke can tab, refusing to respond to the comment. "See, wilful. Stubborn as an ass."

The accusation silences Naomi's protests and she chews her lip in thought, looking across the street. She wants to pick Emily's brain about what is supposed to happen next. Is she supposed to try to get Michelle back? Should she take it as a learning experience and move on with new wisdom under her belt? Is Emily hinting at something else? Fucking hell. They sit in companionable silence for a few more minutes, with Naomi's thoughts cascading through her consciousness relentlessly before Emily sighs.

"I know you, Naomi. Better than you do, probably." Naomi turns to meet Emily's imploring gaze. Her heart flutters, but for an odd reason she can't place. It feels like anxiety, as if she's predicted what's about to happen. "I've seen your honesty and I've seen your lies. So tell me, do you really not love Michelle?"

Naomi turns away first and focuses intently on picking fuzz off her leggings. She flicks away the invisible pieces of lint in a steady beat, as if it's a terribly oft practised habit. She wants to say no, she thinks; admit that she really could love Michelle. But then she's constantly reminded that it's Emily that she'd be admitting it to. Instead, she waffles about the subject.

"Do you think you can love two people at the same time?" Her eyes fix pointedly on Emily, and she witnesses those familiar brown eyes widen almost imperceptibly. It only takes a second for Emily to regain her admirable composure.

She takes a swig of her Coke before answering. "Sure. But I don't think it's really all that common. You have to differentiate." She looks hard at the blonde, as if trying to give her some very important piece of advice. "Between what  _is_  now, and what  _was_."

Naomi bows her head in acceptance but doesn't say a word. Emily reaches down and takes Naomi's cold hand. "You shouldn't just think you love something cos it can't hurt you anymore, and pretend you don't love something else cos it still can." She threads their fingers together and sighs. "I'll always love you too," she admits softly after a long pause. "In a way. You broke me, stripped me completely helpless though. But you're my first love, Naoms. You'll always be. That doesn't change no matter how many people I love from now on."

"Forever?" Naomi ventures hesitantly, remembering what she had asked so many years ago at the airport. Emily nods minutely and smiles a little wider. "And that's okay?" That's the real question Naomi wants answered, if everything she's feeling is allowed. It could change everything. She sees a glimmer of hope twinkling in what used to be a dark, chaotic tangle of frustration and indecision.

Emily laughs and looks up at the sky, before stealing a glance at Naomi's anxious face. She knocks their shoulders together jovially. "Of course it is, you stupid cow. It's love. It's always okay." The blonde grins in response and squeezes Emily's hand tighter, leaning against her. After a moment of silence though, her mood darkens again.

"Ems... What if, hypothetically speaking yeah, I saw your face whilst I was fucking Chelle that night at Motion? What the fuck is that?"

Emily chokes on the sip of Coke she'd taken in and coughs for a second, patting herself on the chest. She pins Naomi with an intense glare. "That... was probably a drunken panic attack. Christ, Naomi. I don't know. It obviously wasn't something you wanted to see or else everything wouldn't have gone to pot like it did, yeah?" She pauses. "You are such a twat. I thought it was just a college phase."

"So it's not-?"

"No!" Emily interrupts. "Not everything has a great, deep meaning. Sometimes you're just fucked up and overwhelmed." She smirks again, "And you seem quite... prone to that."

Naomi leans back against the fence and considers Emily's arguments. They seem reasonable, possible even. More than possible, really. Most likely. She looks down, rejoins their hands and wonders if maybe things are just always going to be strange and backwards, like she's watching her own life through a mirror. She twists their palms together tighter as a warmth settles into her body. But she realises that Emily's right again because that love they had in college, she doesn't feel that anymore. Something else resides there, a sort of lingering comfort, an understanding. It replaces doubt and fear. Her heartbeat doesn't speed up or flutter when they touch and there are none of those pleasant butterflies flitting about in her stomach. She doesn't feel that heat pooling deep inside her. None of that anxiety. But even so, there's the magnetism, like she never wants to let Emily go. It's just  _nice_. Right. It's just Naomi and Emily, how maybe they had always been meant to be after all.

"You'd better get an A* in Psychology," Naomi muses with a smile.

Emily's lips spread into a contented smile. "You'd better get your girlfriend back."

"Yeah," Naomi sighs, unsure about the potential for that. They sit there, each gazing just beyond. Content in silence and companionship, until a scuffling of feet causes them both to turn.

Sid Jenkins is shuffling past them and towards Gina's front door. Naomi quickly stands up, letting go of Emily's hand and reaches out to grab hold of Sid's windbreaker.

"Sid, what the fuck?" Her tone is supposed to be hard and demanding, but she really just sounds scared. "Where's Michelle?"

The boy wrings his jacket from Naomi's grasp and looks between the two younger girls, shaking his head. "I always get stuck doing this." He gazes imploringly at the blonde. "Can you please just let me get Michelle's things? I'm just the messenger, yeah?"

"It's my house," Naomi states. This time it does come out like a threat. Sid's never been anything but a friend, but today is different because Naomi only views him as interference between what she has and what she wants.

He shifts his weight a few times, obviously uncomfortable with the confrontation. "C'mon," he moans but the feeble request falls on uncaring ears. Naomi puts out an arm, barring him from going further into the garden. "This is naff," he sulks.

Naomi's had enough of whiny boys and beating around the bush. Emily still inspires a peculiar sort of confidence in her. "Ring Michelle," she demands. "Ring her and tell her to come get her own things." Sid half-heartedly searches for his mobile in his cargo pockets. It's making Naomi immensely more impatient. "Now, Sid!"

He stutters something unintelligible as he finally retrieves his mobile. Naomi watches him intently as if she's expecting him to bolt at any second. He never gets the chance to speak to Michelle however because a distinctive ringtone echoes from somewhere nearby and Naomi looks up to see the older girl walking towards the house, a distinctly unpleasant look on her face. Naomi knows it's not going to be easy. She glances quickly at Emily who remains seated on the wall, nonchalantly sipping her Coke and watching the situation unfold. It's not her battle any longer.

When Michelle is about four feet away, Naomi's breath hitches in her chest. It catches for a moment and when she releases it, a tide of something else crashes down on her. There's a flash that only lasts a moment but leaves her breathless. Sid fades away from her vision, and Emily too, but somehow they both remain, like the way one feels the stars watching them from above. Naomi feels the ache first, like she's been hit but Michelle has stopped and remains standing well out of reach. It's all there at once: the heat, the butterflies, the beat of her heart taking on a life of its own within the confines of her fragile chest. In there, she's aware of a shuddering sort of feeling, as if her heart itself is trembling in excitement. She thinks that maybe her soul itself is vibrating. But it vanishes almost as quickly as it came, leaving a throbbing sort of electricity in its wake that spreads out to her fingertips and Naomi is finally sure.

"I love you." It comes out louder than she expected and the real world comes cascading down around her, crashing against her senses. She always had been fond of dramatic, sudden displays of emotion. She's aware suddenly of Sid standing a little dumbfounded by her side, aware of the sound of Emily sucking up the last of her soft drink through the straw. Aware of Michelle's ragged breathing. "That's what you need to hear, right?"

Michelle sets her lips in a grim smile as she looks back and forth suspiciously between Naomi and the redhead behind her. "Don't just say things because you can." Her eyes narrow at Naomi, in accusation or disbelief possibly. Fuck, it hurts. "Sid, go grab my bag."

Naomi's arm flies out and latches onto his arm. "No, Sid." As a result, he looks completely annoyed to be stuck in this fucking position again. Naomi meets Michelle's glare straight on, a challenge accepted. A darkness settles over the brunette's features, as if preparing for something much worse.

She shrugs in a very calculated way. "Fine. I'll get it myself." She takes a step towards Naomi's human barrier when a small hand stops her. They all refocus on Emily, standing between the 3 friends, one hand blocking Michelle's progress.

She looks at both girls. "I'll get it." Naomi is speechless at this apparent betrayal. Sid merely shrugs and slips out from the battleground he's previously been stood in the centre of. Emily moves inside the house without complaint from Naomi or Michelle. The moment the door closes behind her, Naomi's blue eyes flicker back to Michelle's face.

"Please, Chelle."

There it is again. Her heart is literally trembling. Fluttering, trying to break free. Or maybe it's dancing. Laughing. It's distracting in its intensity. She takes a deep breath to no effect. The twisting pain in her stomach is no match for her heartbeats thudding away, demanding her full attention, reminding her not to forget what's important. The fear and anxiety cramp her, but the resounding thump-thump overwhelm it all.

"I'm sorry," she tries again. "I was..."  _Stupid, confused, ignorant, pathetic, fucked up_. She groans. "Shit."

There's something that softens in Michelle's face and she cocks an eyebrow in disbelief.

"I needed..." She searches for the bloody words and isn't surprised to find that once again, she's helpless in their absence. Her heart is still going wild, and it's spreading this strange kind of excitement throughout her chest now. Like warm water dripping down, pooling in crevasses, draining. Naomi gives up trying to grab ahold of words. They obviously want nothing to do with her.

"You have no idea what I'm feeling," she manages to whisper, feeling utterly defeated.

There's a second crash; this one far more palpable then the previous. It too only lasts a moment however. Lips pressed hard and then empty air. An ephemeral tease. Naomi thinks that maybe Michelle has pulled back but she realises then that she had. Her hands are still tangled in chestnut brown hair, but there's space between them. It seems to have ended far too soon and Naomi can't understand why since the feeling in her body has not receded whatsoever. It's thrumming away, stronger than ever.

"You don't think I do too?" Michelle asks finally, the first promising words she's said to the blonde since last night. Her voice wavers as she forces the question out. It's plainly obvious that the insinuation hurts her. "You're the  _only_ one, Nome?" Her lips turn upwards in a minuscule grimace. Naomi realises yet another one of her many mistakes today. But she doesn't beg, doesn't over-dramatize the moment. She's not 17 anymore. They're not children fumbling around the minefield. She doesn't even cry. There's a sort of strange effectiveness in the boldness of simple actions. They lack pretence and misinterpretation and make up for flair with tenacity. So she moves forward, placing a soft kiss on Michelle's lips, lingers much longer than needed, before returning again with slightly more vigour, as if to drive her point home.

It's not demanding, merely persistent. Stubborn, perhaps. That is, after all, something Naomi excels at. She feels the part of Michelle's lips who seems to finally be learning Naomi's own language, and an overwhelming relief surges through her veins, pumping it furiously outward. The kiss deepens of its own will almost and the feel of Michelle's hands on her body – resting one in the curve of her waist, the other gripping her bicep rather tightly – reverberates pleasantly to her toes. There's a kind of settling feeling, as if she's found her  _place_  and can finally rest.

Pulling back, she avoids eye contact for a moment, gathering her senses together before facing whatever may come. She's used to losing things just as she finds them. But when she finally does look up, Michelle isn't gazing at her like she expected. The other girl, still so full of uncertainty after everything, is feeling it too. So it rests with Naomi, the decision about the next step. She has to lead, even if she's not sure how or where it will take them. It would be so easy to say goodbye, in one sense. It may hurt but that seems less terrifying than continuing forward.

Habits, she thinks. And then she hears Emily's words of advice from only a few minutes ago. She closes her eyes for a moment again. "Chelle?" she asks, her voice no louder than a whisper.

Green eyes meet hers, pupils dilated yet focussed. She tries to hide a grimace as she struggles for the right words. Finally she releases the one that she knows for certain is the thing she's always wanted to say.

"Stay."

Michelle looks mildly surprised, hopeful even. She tilts and dips her head slightly and presses her lips together in that unique way of hers when she's trying to withhold a smile, when she's happy. Her eyes crinkle a little at the sides. That was so much easier and more painless than Naomi had ever thought it could be. Seems silly now that it took this long. Michelle fingers the lapels of her jacket. "I need to change," she says with a small shrug. "Got ketchup down my vest this morning. I was a little... distracted." She pulls her coat open to reveal a smear of dried ketchup on her white, and well-fitting, top and chuckles. Naomi grins then. It's as good as a promise, perhaps. She meets Michelle's stare then and the older girl's own smile fully emerges.

"Go on then," Naomi says, unable to will her smile away even if she had tried. Michelle brushes past her, purposely close Naomi reckons, because she has to repress a very telling shudder of anticipation. She's not even concerned that Emily hasn't returned and the two girls are likely to run into each other. Really, she doesn't have much time to dwell on it before the car Tony's hired comes to a screeching halt outside the house and Tony leaps out. In a matter of seconds, he's towering over Naomi and Sid. Effy slides carefully from the passenger side and approaches with much greater caution.

"Where is she?" Tony demands, as if he has any sort of claim to Michelle. Sid shrugs, obviously. And Naomi stands firm, blocking Tony's way.

"It's settled," she assures him but his face morphs into a sneer anyway.

He pulls out his mobile and waves it at Naomi. "I get this fucking text from Sid here, telling me to get down here ASAP cos Chelle's wrecked up. So what's the deal, Moany?"

Naomi rolls her eyes at the question and the use of her nickname at such an inappropriate time. "Leave it, Tony. It's sorted, I told you." She glares at him.

Sid pipes up beside her. "Yeah, it's over."

Tony shakes his head at the two of them. "You retard, Sid. Why'd you do that?" Effy materializes at Tony's side and places a hand on his arm. It pulls him from whatever weird, angry place he was in. Naomi stares at Effy momentarily, trying to figure out why she is even here but Effy merely winks at her and tosses her hair over her shoulder. There's a flash of the old Effy briefly. Emily's steps echo across the garden path as she exits the house, though she comes to an abrupt stop halfway when she sees the small crowd gathered.

Tony studies her for a second. "Hey there, Red," he greets in a condescending sort of way, but it's layered with something else. Pleasure almost? Emily raises an unaffected eyebrow and continues her walk towards them. She sidles up between Effy and Naomi, and gives Effy a tight smile. It's a strange sort of reunion. The brunette tilts her head to the side and just plasters on that vacant yet knowing sort of smile she had employed so often in college. Like she's already completely certain of all the events that had preceded her arrival, just from glancing at faces. Naomi smirks.

"You're such morons," Tony finally says disdainfully, backing up slightly, shaking his head. The accusation hangs in the air and neither Sid nor Naomi seem willing to challenge it immediately. Emily just peers wide-eyed at the group of them, thrown head-first into this strange other reality where the past collides in disaster. Finally Sid's fists ball up at his sides.

"No, Tone,  _you're_  all such bloody morons!" he bursts out and everyone except Effy looks at least mildly surprised.

He points towards Naomi's house. "I've just spent all morning with her and she's spent the whole fucking time crying her sodding heart out to me. Cos, oh Sid, you're such a  _great friend_ ," he mimics angrily. "Bollocks. You've been here, what, a day?" He pins Tony with an accusatory glare, that despite his smaller stature is quite effective. "Got everything all fucked already."

Tony shrugs, like it's all just water over his back. "I'm not the one who made her cry." He looks at Naomi with that insufferable smirk of superiority. She rolls her eyes back at him.

"You don't get it? Neither of you." Sid shakes his head with emphasis. "You know what she asked me? She said, 'Why is so hard for people to love me back? What's wrong with me?' Yeah. Cos she's so bursting with it and you twats just prance about like sodding untouchable wankers and stomp all over her."

Naomi steps forward. "Sid-–"

He holds up both his sleeve-covered hands in protest, waving them about. "It's not a fucking game to her. She just wants to feel  _really_  special for  _once_. She doesn't want to be loved for what she looks like," he spits, gesturing first to Tony. "Or what she represents," he continues and points at Naomi. "She never has. Just loved for  _herself_. Why is it that I can see that and you brilliant sodding geniuses are such soggy dildos?" He takes a deep breath. "So, no Tone, you two are the  _morons_."

Sid's eyes widen in shock at his own outburst and he stumbles back a step, wiping a hand over his face. Tony is silent for a moment. "But I don't love her anymore, Sid. She knows that. She doesn't love me either." His tone is even and blatantly cocksure. He forces that insufferable smile again. Like he's blameless and invincible. Always.

Sid narrows his eyes and glares, but he says nothing. He doesn't need to remind Tony of all the damage he had already inflicted for years on end. He knows it. Sid knows it. Naomi knows it. Everyone knows it. He shakes his head, ignoring Tony and turns fully to Naomi. "She, like,  _loves_ you. If you don't–."

"Shut up, Sid," Effy's rarely heard voice cuts through Sid's advice. She offers Naomi a small smile. "Naomi knows." She raises an eyebrow. "Doesn't she?" Naomi presses her lips together and stares for a moment, debating, wondering. Effy smirks wider. "Just  _be_ , Naomi."

Finally the blonde turns on her heel and leaves the small crowd in her garden. She hears Tony coming onto Emily as she closes the front door behind her and she smiles at his audacity. He really is a moron.


	3. Just Be

 

 

The wooden door slams shut. Michelle jumps and spins around to find the source of her interruption. She's grasping a clean top to her bra-clad torso. Naomi stands in her bedroom, surveying the sight with an odd detachment. She says nothing and waits for Michelle to relax, which she does not long after and continues sorting through her overnight bag for a more suitable vest, most likely. She pulls out something blue and sparkly and tosses it aside.

"Emily's nice," she states, almost wistfully, whilst she ploughs through her mass of clothes.

Naomi takes a step forward. "Yeah. She is."

"Really nice." There's just a tinge of something else in the words, though Naomi knows Michelle is sincere enough.

"Michelle," Naomi says carefully as she approaches. She takes the current choice of top from Michelle's hands and drops it to the floor. Michelle stares distractedly at the discarded clothing, gooseflesh rising along her arms. "I meant it, you know." Michelle's lips form a small, shy smile, but her eyes seem to still hold some disbelief when she meets Naomi's insistent gaze.

"It's fine," she says, trying her best to put on a brave face in light of her insecurity. It doesn't dissuade Naomi however, her own stubbornness gaining the upper-hand, and finally for the right reason. She reaches down and pulls up her own jumper, tossing it with carelessness towards Michelle's pile. The brunette is curious but not convinced. She allows Naomi to inch forward, run her fingers over the waistband of her jeans slowly, almost tortuously so before undoing them and sliding them over her hips. Michelle wriggles and steps out of them, her breath catching more often. It continues in a steady, slow pace, silently, until Naomi pushes Michelle back onto the bed, all their clothes shed on the floor.

"Everyone's outside waiting," Michelle starts weakly.

Naomi chuckles, hovering over her, their skin almost grazing but not quite. “What for? Would you just let me prove...? I'm trying to be brave here.” She lowers herself until they're pressed together, skin to skin, combustible, every nerve slowly burning. Her lips find Michelle's with ease, moving languidly with the certainty of something true. Finding purpose. She can feel the heated trails like silent promises left behind in the wake of Michelle's fingertips along her spine, down across her waist, and back up again. They've been here many times before, but this time something is different and Naomi can't quite place it. Things are moving slowly, like they're underwater and not fighting against it. 

Michelle tilts her head back as Naomi begins her descent along her defined jawline, over her earlobe, down again. Lips brushing and nipping along each inch of smooth skin offered to her. Her hands, commanded by something outside the scope of her brain, move in heavy, unhurried swirls over perfect breasts, tweaking nipples and further around, down. Michelle pushes up to meet Naomi. The renewed contact sends sparks straight through Naomi's body. The slow grinding rhythm of their hips together, against soft thighs, feels like dancing. The kind that happens in dark corners of clubs, in shadowed bedrooms, in love. The kind of hazy instinctual sway and twist that caused wars in Turkey and Shakespearean tragedies to erupt in Egypt, Greece and Rome; the kind that even the Bible couldn't ignore. Grasping and pulling, closer. What was steady breathing turns more ragged, hitching at touches and licks. Naomi finds an irresistible urge to bite down, a little harder as she moves her mouth along a collarbone. Michelle's gasp is unmistakable and her fingers clench around the younger girl's neck, momentarily stalling their sweep through blonde locks. 

Every movement seems calculated and exact, but precision is the furthest thing from Naomi's mind. She moves only by instinct when she drags her flattened tongue lazily over a hard nipple. A moan boils up from within Michelle as manicured nails scrape lightly over Naomi's scalp. Naomi doesn't stop. Again, another sweep whilst her other hand massages her other breast without haste. Again. Michelle's hips smack up against her taut abdomen, an automatic, writhing response. The power drives Naomi a little bit mental, in a good way. She switches sides, inciting a whole new wave of responses. It's addicting in a completely new way than being with Michelle had been before. There's a lightness now, something akin to freedom. She grasps at the duvet cover as she pulls herself back up, towards Michelle's mouth. She nips and tugs on her bottom lip before sealing their lips together, immediately finding permission to let her tongue explore further. She feels two warm hands clutching at her ribcage as if to steady everything. Never fully disconnecting their lips, she slips a hand down, thumb sliding over hardened peaks and eliciting groans that vibrate into her own body. 

When she finally breaks the kiss, Naomi hovers above, staring through unfocussed eyes at the girl beneath her. Michelle's green eyes, darkened perceptibly and bleary, peer back and Naomi smiles. It's fully honest this time. Her hand kneads harder, but not ungentle. Michelle sucks in a deep breath, her eyes squeezing shut again and almost growls then. 

“Nome, I swear...” she trails off as Naomi leans down to run her tongue out behind her ear, and she stretches out. Her voice is strangled and breathy. Exactly how Naomi likes it. “I might just cum from this.” 

The admission causes the blonde to pause momentarily. She hopes it's not too noticeable and kisses down further to compensate for her stalling. Naomi can't help but think about Tony and his merciless taunting over Michelle's supposed frigidity, how insecure and almost scared she had been when they had first fucked, in that sloppy, drunken almost-mistake. (It had been considered a mistake then, but no longer). She considers Michelle's own confession of it always being difficult, and now? Naomi isn't sure if she is just exaggerating her latest claim about how close she is already, but the smear of slick wetness on her leg from Michelle's movements indicates it just might be true. It feels good. It feels true. And Naomi knows that both of them had changed sometime in the last few days, if not hours. The trust has returned, easier than it should have maybe. Her mouth is already fluttering kisses on the inside of her girlfriend's thighs by the time she realises what she's doing. Michelle is wriggling almost impatiently but Naomi, ever stubborn, refuses to give in yet. She cups her with one hand, presses slightly, but nothing more. 

A groan of frustration from the prone girl makes Naomi smile into her kisses. She nips lightly again at the tight thigh in front of her, grinning at the exasperation that is evident. She slowly curls a finger and gently delves into Michelle's folds, running a knuckle down her length. The resulting buck of hips make it obvious that she's a giant fucking tease. She does it again, with two fingers and continues to suck the inside of her thigh. 

“You're going to--” A gasp. “Kill me,” Michelle finishes with barely veiled agitation. She attempts to grind her hips harder against Naomi's hand but is met with empty space... Until she feels Naomi's hot tongue against her. A most uncharacteristic whine escapes at the contact. Michelle'd never been particularly fond of or comfortable about this; again, some sort of unfortunate remnant of upbringing and Tony Stonem's teenage conditioning. So Naomi pauses, looks up over the plane of smooth skin and perfect fucking tits. 

“You know, you're beautiful, Chelle,” she states, quieter than she had planned. Almost as if she was in awe having the words escape her lips. “ _Every_ where.” She watches curiously as Michelle's hands immediately go up to cover her face. She shakes her head. 

“Don't, Naomi, please,” she mumbles, the request muffled by her hands. It doesn't matter however. Naomi can still hear how choked up the sound is. It doesn't make much sense. Michelle loved hearing how fit she is; she would always beam with pride and wrinkle her nose in pleasure with a cheeky grin. Naomi senses the movement before it happens and she's prepared. When Michelle moves to close her legs and roll over, a firm hand on her hip holds her on her back. Naomi's risen to a kneel for leverage. She wonders if it has anything to do with Sid's comments earlier. 

“Not just on the outside either,” she says to the covered face of her girlfriend. 

“Naomi.” Another muffled, choked sound, like a half-caught sob. Naomi rises more and quickly clambers up the bed and pulls Michelle's hands roughly from her face. She pins them beside her head, glowering at the other girl. She kisses hard, sucking the air right out of the brunette's lungs in the process. It's much harsher than everything up to this point. Michelle struggles out of the kiss, gasping for air. 

“You're beautiful,” Naomi repeats, much more assuredly this time. Not quite menacing, but serious all the same. “And I love you.” 

Michelle's eyes widen at the statement, said with such surety. She attempts to free her wrists but the feeble struggle is futile. “I love _you_ ,” she says, almost like a concession and Naomi's not sure she likes the tone. “But can you just –fuck...” 

Naomi considers the option, but finds the demand rather rude considering. _Michelle_ wants it to mean nothing? When has she _ever_ wanted _anything_ to mean nothing? She shakes her head and Michelle stares at her, like a scared bird. “No.” She releases Michelle's wrists but doesn't move from her position straddling her. Thankfully Michelle isn't in the mood for a power struggle today. She leans down, laying soft kisses in a path towards her earlobe. “I want us to do it proper, like make love, okay?” 

As Michelle's arms snake up around her shoulders, she knows she's winning. She's pulled down, their bodies flush once again, the heat still radiating strongly. 

“We haven't before?” Michelle asks, curious, slightly confused. “Why not?” 

Naomi wants to scoff because to her, the answer is plainly obvious. She settles for kissing the older girl slowly before answering. “Cos I didn't love you. At least not properly. Not like I should have.” It's a painful thing to hear likely, so Naomi distracts them both with another searing kiss. She feels Michelle's hips gyrate upwards slightly, building a subtle rhythm. When she pulls back, Michelle is staring. She has moisture building around the corners of her eyes. 

“Say it once more, please.” 

Naomi pauses, not sure which words to recite. She stares down at waiting green eyes. It strikes her that Michelle is upset, not because she doesn't want to hear these things, but because she doesn't believe them. Thinks they're just platitudes. She's just so desperate to be loved properly and fully, and used to such disappointment that it's impossible to see when it's really there. Naomi has the overwhelming urge to pummel Tony, and maybe herself in the process. What a scrap that would be. She's struck too with the realisation that Michelle is nothing like Emily, with her calm and constant, if well-hidden, confidence. The comparison is useless now. And she feels relieved with the knowledge that they are such different girls. 

“You're beautiful,” she breathes out, a tremble persistent in her voice now, pushing chestnut fringe back with her free hand. Michelle sniffles, lets out a long, wavering sigh, and breaks the gaze as a small, shy small breaks across her face. Naomi places a soft kiss on her cheek, wondering when she turned into such a sap. “Just be, Chelle.” She offers the older girl a smirk that would make Effy proud. 

Green eyes blaze once again, darker as two strong hands grip the sides of Naomi's face and pull her into yet another long kiss. It's far more insistent, far more confident, like the Michelle she'd snogged on the Stonem's settee all those months ago. It makes the warmth spiral straight to her core in anticipation. If Emily had been a sleek panther in the sack, Michelle, when she truly wanted to, was a fucking lioness. The thought is thrilling, if a little irrelevant at the moment because Naomi's insistent on picking up where they'd left off. Not feral fucking. Not like at Motion last night. This is supposed to be different. It's going to be. Naomi wriggles from the grasp and travels once again, agonizingly slowly down Michelle's body until, without much preamble, she slides her tongue out and down through Michelle's folds, evoking a guttural sort of sound. Even slower then, she flattens her tongue does a sweep back up, twirling the tip softly over the other girl's clit. She's rewarded with a slight push into her mouth. It's all the encouragement she needs. She continues her task, knowing by now, exactly what to do, lapping, licking, sucking, teasing; trying to convey her previous words with a reaffirmation through touch. She speaks everything she's wanted to say through fingertips and soft palms, through grazing lips and a stroking tongue, through the warm puff of breath on hot skin. There are fingers in her hair, holding on tightly, pulling insistently. Despite that, she's acutely aware that somewhere above, Michelle is breathing so heavily she sounds like she's drowning almost. She deftly slides two fingers inside to elicit a very satisfied moan. Michelle's actually pretty easy to please and she's constantly amazed at how shit Tony must have been in bed. Her fingers curl forward, seeking that spot she knows is going to bring the stars crashing down from heaven. When Michelle's gasps loudly, she knows she's had success. 

The brunette is no longer quiet. Her breaths are coming out in little, frenetic moans. Her whole body seems to be absolutely pulsating, grinding her hips towards her, and Naomi tries to match its inner rhythm, stroking, tapping and allowing her tongue to dance to the beat. Michelle is really fucking close but it's not close enough. Naomi shifts again, laying kisses back up towards her breasts, over the sheen of sweat that has emerged. The heaving effort of Michelle's breathing is unmistakable from this vantage point. She props herself up slightly, their bodies close and parallel, still moving inside Michelle with practised ease. It's like the swimming in the ocean as the tide begins to come in. There's the ebb and flow of the waves, slowly growing stronger and stronger. When she pushes and pulls, her body lithe and smooth in the action, Michelle's follows like she being swept up in the waves. It's not enough to feel it though. She wants to see her face. 

Michelle on the other hand seems to be suddenly bashful, she turns from Naomi's gaze. Careful plying may work so Naomi sucks hard on Michelle's pulse point, earning a groan punctuated with a sharp gasp as she flicks a thumb over her clit deliberately, in time with her other movements. 

She leans in close, stretching as best as she can, to get close to Michelle's ear. “Look at me, Chelle.” It may be a quiet demand, but it is still a demand. 

Michelle turns but clenches her eyes shut. _Maybe it's a game_ , Naomi thinks. So she twists and strokes harder, causing the older girl's eyes to snap open and immediately lock on to her own imploring blue ones, yet still glazed, relinquishing control to Naomi alone. The fists she had clenched around innocent bedsheets are suddenly free again to grab ahold of Naomi's body. Michelle's head tilts back as Naomi herself prepares. She knows what is going to happen but she's not sure if Michelle does. It's even better that way, she reckons. 

“ _Naomi_.” Her name escapes as a shaky plea and the blonde obliges finally. 

“Just be.”

It takes only a few seconds before she feels the rigid tension of Michelle's body, head thrown back, the wave of clenching of muscles around her fingers and the hot liquid drenching her hand. There is a cry that breaks free from Michelle's normally fairly reserved mouth. It sounds like fucking ecstasy and Naomi's quite sure she never wants to forget it. She just can't stop staring though. Michelle, gorgeously splayed out on her bed, heaving and trembling, luminescent almost with the afternoon sun glinting off her slick skin. Naomi's not sure if she's ever felt as simultaneously proud, turned-on and in love in her entire life. She waits until the contractions subside somewhat, lingering in the pleasure of what just occurred, before pulling out and crawling up to lay beside her girlfriend. 

“Christ,” is all Michelle says after a while, and giggles slightly. Maybe she's a little embarrassed now that she's coming down. She rolls over, out of the wet spot, and towards Naomi's warm body. “I got pins and needles in my hands, Nome. Everything just...” She doesn't finish her sentence, but she's simply glowing and trying valiantly to hold back a satisfied smile. “Fucking freezing now.” Naomi laughs and crawls off the bed, pulling up the duvet from where it had been tossed to the floor. She drapes it over them both and Michelle is instantly wrapped around her. She certainly doesn't feel chilly to the touch, but Naomi recognises the after-effect well. 

They lie in silence for minutes on end, Michelle's breathing slowly evening out to the point that Naomi has to make sure she's still awake. She is, but just barely, it seems. She feels lips press against her neck. “Bloody hell, Nome.” 

Naomi smirks, and chuckles. “I know.” 

“I'm going to... I mean, I want to...” she trails off and Naomi nods, amused. 

“Right, Chelle. Sure.”

She should have known Michelle by now. The flippant "Sure" was taken as a challenge and suddenly there is an inspired if slightly dazed and tired brunette glaring down at her. "I am," she states with such authority and certainty that Naomi is, once again, a little aroused. It's more than a promise; it's like a sexual  _prophecy_.

"Ok, Rambo. Just fucking relax," Naomi says, but not without humour. She feels fingers flex around her hip and Michelle's body seems to ripple head to toe as she presses their bodies together. Naomi turns slightly and finds soft, persistent lips on her own immediately, probing and promising. Her body kickstarts back into gear. The moment is brief however because there's a rumble of a mobile vibrating against a hard surface. She wants to ignore it, and does so until there's a knock on her bedroom door. Michelle pulls back and burrows into the duvet, still grinning in post-orgasmic bliss as Naomi calls out for the visitor to enter.

Tony pokes his head around the door. "Good, you're decent." Naomi stares at him impassively, trying not to focus on how indecent they actually are under the cover of the blankets. "You didn't answer your texts."

"You didn't consider that a sign perhaps?" she asks.

He smirks at them both. "I knocked, didn't I? Baby steps, Moany." He shrugs then. "Anyway, Effy wants to know if you're going to catch this memorial or just, you know, wait for the next one?"

Both girls look instantly to the digital bedside clock. It's already half 3. The service is in half an hour. Her blue eyes widen in surprise and she almost leaps out of bed before she realises the state she's in. She catches herself in the nick of time and Tony is just grinning, staring at her like a pervy tomcat. Michelle makes a snorting sound and rolls her eyes at his continued presence.

"Oh please continue," he implores with restrained glee. "I can guarantee you don't have anything I haven't seen many,  _many_ times before."

"Fuck's sake, Tone," Michelle admonishes, pulling the duvet up around them both, obviously feeling a prick of either irritation or possessiveness. Jealousy? Protectiveness?

Naomi finds it all rather amusing for about 10 seconds. "Piss off, yeah?" she adds. "And tell your sister to keep her knickers on, I'll be ready."

Tony chuckles at them both. "You must have chaos in your soul to give birth to a dancing star," he mentions almost flippantly, gazing first at Michelle for a split second then focussing on Naomi. There's that look again. He's known all along how everything would go. Him and Effy both. She catches only the briefest flicker in his eye but she knows she saw it all the same. It's the same thing she saw months ago when he told her how messy beginnings were: the normally heavily-shrouded tenderness, the faith. Trust. Now it all makes a little more sense. Chaos begets opportunity, but that doesn't make it any less confusing at first. Luckily she had her captain and his first mate. And then there's a wink, this time distinctly Effy-like and pleasant, as he yanks the bedroom door closed behind him.

 

 

 

* * *

It feels a little familiar, being here with these people, standing around a grave. Emily is on one side of her and Effy the other, their hands intertwined. Effy's grip is so tight that her knuckles are white but Naomi says nothing. Eventually it will loosen; eventually the pressure will subside. She knows from experience. The last time she was in this position neither Cook nor Effy were here. This is the first time ever that Effy has stepped foot into this cemetery. (Cook, she's sure, is a frequent visitor however. The determined way he had led them without hesitation to this spot gave it away.) Mr. Mclair and Karen, who had arranged this, are off to the side. JJ is noticeably absent. No one has heard from him in over a year. Tony and Michelle have fucked off to Sid's for a few hours, feeling it was unnecessary for them to be present. Naomi takes a long, hard look at Effy and berates Tony in her mind. She's not exactly pleased with Michelle either for that matter. She just knows how much better she'd feel with her girlfriend here.

There are no long, regret-filled speeches. Karen says a few long sentences that sound suspiciously like muddled up quotes from a Disney film and a Cheryl Cole song. Mr. Mclair says nothing, he just stares blankly at the two headstones, two Mclairs side by side. Effy trembles the entire time, silently. Cook remains eerily still, like a statue, even when Katie runs a comforting hand over his shoulders. The pattering of the rain bounces off leaves and umbrellas, drowning the silence in nature's own white noise. Karen turns to leave then when she's done, barely acknowledging anyone else, leading her father away with a gentle pull. They're not dead, but they might as well be ghosts. Naomi glances around at everyone, all her friends, and thinks the same.

There's no life left here. They've all fallen apart along the way and no one has taken up the task of fitting them all back together again. It's only starting to come together maybe, the glue provided by two people who aren't even present. As if reading her mind, Effy shakes harder, crumbling even as the rain begins to clear and the sun peaks out.

This was a fucking bad idea.

Where the fuck is Tony? She's about to reach into her pocket for her mobile when Effy abruptly ceases her shivering, her grip loosening slightly. And Cook, at that moment, breaks his own stoicism to look over at Effy.

"You all right, cupcake?" he ventures and everyone's eyes fall heavily on Effy. She nods and it's not really all that convincing honestly but she does it twice more, each one becoming more sure than the last. Effy's hand falls away and Naomi stretches out her knuckles allowing the blood to flow back. She can't let Effy go though, and she grabs her arm, loops her own through the crook and holds tight. The brunette glances up, questioningly, just for a second and catches Naomi's own penetrating gaze. In it together, just like old times.

"She's fine," Naomi eventually supplies, hoping it will be enough assurance for Cook. Katie raises an eyebrow at the scene before yawning. Loudly. Emily whispers fiercely at her sister, likely something about respect but no one's really that concerned. Katie protests with a groan and something about it being boring standing in the wet in a graveyard for the millionth time. A bit of an exaggeration, Naomi hopes. Emily elbows her roughly.

Effy sighs. "What now?" It's not clear who she's speaking to.

Whatever bickering Emily and Katie were doing ends quickly and everyone is quiet again. The brunette looks around at these people she knows for an answer but none seem to be forthcoming. The question needles Naomi's conscience and annoys her with its lack of a concrete resolution. Knowing what happens now feels somewhat like knowing why it all happened in the first place, and Naomi can't, still even after 2 years, make head nor tail of the whole purpose of this. All of it. Freddie's brutal murder, Cook's prison time, she and Emily's breakup, Effy's mental breakdown. It seems like too much, too many things to have happened and the numerous events have just clouded what may have been a simple answer at one point.

No one has a clue; even Cook lacks a cheeky response. He kicks at the sod with a toe of his worn out plimsoll. Katie finally sighs again, quite loudly. "Well, we're all here, yeah? So whatever. That's it."

"That's it?" Effy echoes, almost indignantly if she had any intonation left in her voice.

"What else do you want, Eff?" Katie volleys back. "It's called  _closure_. Now, we can all stand here miserable for the rest of our lives or we can get on with it." She pulls a pack of cigarettes from her purse and slides one out, dangling it momentarily between her lips. Emily tosses her a lighter and watches her sister fiddle with lighting up.

Effy narrows her eyes briefly. " _Get on_  with it?"

Katie looks up, a little surprised. "Earth to Effy! Did they over-do it with the electro shocks or something? You're like a retarded parrot." Emily growls under her breath at her sister, something about it being a more difficult time for some people over others. The older twin seems to absorb the chastising but shrugs it off afterwards and blows a surprisingly perfect smoke ring. There's something about Katie's dismissive attitude that seems to tickle Effy's resolve and as soon as she catches Katie's challenging, brown-eyed gaze, a smile breaks out. And then a giggle. Katie echoes the sound and within a minute Effy is laughing, like full-on laughing for what seems like the first time in years. She continues even once Katie has stopped and Naomi tightens her grip on the brunette.

In the midst of it, Tony appears solo, on Effy's other side and she sobers immediately. The respite and catharsis of the last few moments evaporates and they're thrown back down to reality. The whirl of emotions and her own confusion at the reasons behind  _everything_ , start to weigh on Naomi. Tony pries Effy's fingers from around Naomi's arm and they say nothing to each other, just stare. He forces Effy to stand on her own beside Freddie's grave. She seems unsure and there's a twitch as she withholds an attempt to reach out for her brother, or Naomi. It passes in a wave and then her spine straightens, and she lets out a deep breath. Only then does Tony take her hand.

Effy glances at all of them and then down at the grass. "That's it." The words are final.

Naomi turns, peering over her shoulder in case Michelle is tagging along behind Tony somewhere but she's met only with manicured green grass and headstones. All her friends, they're all shifting around her, whispering and talking, moving closer. There are conversations happening and Effy's eyes are hard again, determined almost as she speaks to Cook. Is that really it? Whatever epiphany Effy had just been privy to has escaped Naomi's grasp; Effy merely smirks at Naomi as if they both know the secret. Emily places a hand on her forearm in support and she squeezes the twin's hand in gratitude. There's a little disbelief in those brown eyes as well. None of them really understand it at all probably. Maybe that's for the best.

She moves towards Cook and wraps her arms around him, kisses his cheek softly. There is still despair on his face, in his stance, but there is something new in his eyes. Something that is suspiciously like hope. She kisses him again, chastely on the lips before slipping away, nodding at Effy who merely blinks in recognition, the very smallest hint of smile.

That  _is_  it, she reckons, as she walks through the gates of the cemetery. They'll never do this again, not this way. They don't need to. But she needs to sort her head out alone, just for a little while.

 

 

 

* * *

The sun is dipping lower to the west as it casts a golden hue over the tops of trees and the River Avon. A dog darts around her for a moment before a whistle calls it away. She sighs and gazes at the houses of Hotwells on the other side of the channel. It's peaceful, finally. Thoughts of Freddie slip away just a little as she sees a small boat mosey down-current. As if meant to specifically interrupt this new-found calm, she vaguely hears foot steps drawing nearer, crinkling through the first fallen leaves of autumn.

"Effy said I'd find you here."

A familiar voice floats over Naomi's shoulder. She doesn't have to double-check who it belongs to. She says nothing in response and Michelle doesn't wait for an invitation that she knows will never actually come; she takes a seat beside Naomi. There's a comfort even in such a small action. Naomi's instantly, yet silently, apologetic about just running off after the sorry excuse for a memorial. Michelle kicks at the grass at her feet momentarily to summon up courage to say something more but it doesn't seem to work immediately. They both stare out over the Avon for a moment before she speaks again.

"I never told you, doubt Tony did either," she says thoughtfully, looking at the lethargic, brown river slipping past Clifton. "My mate died during college too. Different reason, but..." Her voice has dropped to almost a whisper. "It changes everything."

Naomi glances over, squinting a little against the late afternoon sun. She's merely content to listen to wherever this story is going.

"We were all falling apart anyway before that. For a long time. But that was kind of  _it_ , you know?" She pauses, collecting her long-forgotten memories and bringing them back to the surface. She looks down at her fingers, picking at a nail and Naomi watches the movement with unnecessary attention. When she catches sight of Naomi observing her with such intensity, the brunette crosses her arms and lifts her gaze back across the Avon. "He was just there, and then one day, he wasn't. And neither were we. Not as we were before. It took me a really long time afterwards to understand what it all meant."

"But you do now?" Naomi's curious. She can't imagine ever understanding  _why_. She knows the  _hows_  and  _whens_  and the  _what happened afters_ , but the  _why_ still sticks to her, pallid and almost poisonous. It still prickles at her skin when she allows herself to think about it long enough.

Michelle gives an almost imperceptible nod of affirmation before peering over at her girlfriend with concern. Naomi shrugs casually, but it doesn't the loosen the burden she feels settling on her shoulders.

"I just..." Naomi begins to explain but the words get lost again, fluttering out of her before they fully form. Instead, she takes a deep breath. She wants to tell Michelle how Freddie wasn't really a good friend of hers, she barely knew the guy in the end but he meant something complicated and important to Effy, to Cook, to Katie even perhaps. And regardless, the whole day has been brutal on them all and she still, even after all these years, can't quite grasp why everything is so meaningful, why it happened, why it  _had_  to happen. "I ...don't understand. I've spent the better part of the last 2 years picking up the pieces, following around in the wake of it all, of Effy's disaster. My own. And I still have no fucking clue."

Michelle smiles then, and it throws Naomi for a moment. "Well, it never really makes sense and that's what you have to understand." She sighs. "Fuck it," she breathes out and doesn't sound like she truly means the words. They seem like more of a mantra.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Fuck it, Naomi. It all brought you here. To this moment. With me. Brought me to you." She smirks a little and gazes off again towards downtown Bristol. "It's good  _just like this_ , yeah?"

The blonde is studying Michelle now as she speaks and stares across the river. The sun is glowing on her, much like it did earlier in the day as they lay twisted in the sheets, quivering and gasping, happy and forgiven. Michelle, the girl who always seems to find meaning in everything, is letting it go, for a little while at least, trusting that time will do its work. And somehow that makes it easier for Naomi to do the same. She smiles too. So, they sit in silence, both watching the occasional boat pass by, the ripples, the wake. A few gulls circling above. A lorry rumbling along the road far beyond. The wind rustling the trees, leaves spinning and falling signalling the end of summer is coming soon. Life continues on without a hitch, totally oblivious to any existential angst that mortal humans may obsess over. All anyone really has is the  _moment_ , and even that has no guarantees. Maybe that's what Michelle's already realised. A barge lets loose a horn in the distance and the other girl seems to take it as a cue. She stands, brushes her jeans clean of invisible specks and gazes at Naomi for a moment, cocking her head to the side.

"Ready?"

A hand extends towards her, asking, welcoming, encouraging. Their eyes meet then and Naomi feels a surge within herself, almost can feel the roar of blood or of realisation, she isn't sure which anymore. She nods, feeling the truth of her agreement in every muscle. Reaching out, she grabs ahold of Michelle's hand, so steady, unwavering. "Fuck it," she breathes. She's ready. Their fingers loop together; she swears she can feel the echo of a complimentary heartbeat through their connected palms as they walk in comfortable silence back through the park. She's so ready.

 

And it  _is_  good, _just like this_.


	4. Epilogue

 

 

Christmas carols are tinkling from a stereo across the room as Anthea and Tony place various baubles and decorations on their fake plastic tree in the front room. Fairy lights adorn it already and twinkle with a mischievous kind of promise. Christmas with the Stonems always reminds Naomi how much she's missed out on before. She's never been bothered about the lack of gaudy dead trees displayed so proudly and small magic babies born in barns. Those are still strange rituals she can't quite understand. But the  _feeling_  is what she'd never quite had. This communal effort to make something beautiful, for no other reason than to just savour being together. Her mum, while obviously a mega fan of  _community_ , must have missed the memo about Christmastime. It was always the same as every other day, except with that feeling that she was missing something important that everyone else had. Occasionally they did the Pagan thing, with the Yule cake or the Festivus thing, but that never lasted too long because it was seen as just another forced holiday for the sake of fitting in with the rest of the holiday season. And of course, Jenna Fitch wasn't, even in the spirit of Christmas, in favour of having Naomi over for supper or any festivities. Naomi had been allowed merely a glimpse of the tree surrounded with (useless, Capitalist-consumerism-inspired) gifts as she had snuck up to Emily's bedroom that one year.

The first Christmas in London was a time of serious readjustment. The Stonems, in some sort of 'make Effy happy' show, had gone all out. And going from nothing to everything all at once had been intimidating. She wasn't stupid; she knew what everything was: the reindeer and Santa and crèche and stockings. But to have it all in her face was an altogether different experience. And at the present, in her third year, she was revelling in it. Thankfully Anthea had taken the enthusiasm down quite a few notches in the meantime. Now, Tony and his mum go about their practised routine and Naomi follows from her position on the sofa, basking in how comfortable it seems. She'd offered to help as she had done every year, but was always told that this was "their" thing. That was okay, though. It was just Tony and Anthea. Even Effy was shooed away and ended up laying on the settee with her head on Naomi's lap, observing the action with a keen eye, but occasionally dozing off. She's slightly more talkative these days (which isn't saying much) but the holidays always seem to make her extra pensive and silent. Tony drapes an angel onto a high branch at his mother's request. It shimmers for a moment, glinting brightly as it spins slowly. Naomi can't help but hope for her own mum to come by soon. She's meant to arrive in a few days, right before Christmas eve and spend it with them, all at Naomi's insistence. She'd finally managed to show her mum that it wasn't about the gifts or fat paedo doing break and enters; it was about the feeling.

Tony chides his mum gently when she places a penguin on a sled too close to another penguin with a snowball and suggests somewhere else to put it. Christmas brought the best out of Tony Stonem, to be honest. Especially at home in these quiet, co-operative moments. She wishes he'd just be this way the rest of the year. The front bell chimes 4 times and Anthea looks a little surprised. Tony smirks and Naomi smiles widely. "That'll be Chelle," she says with barely veiled excitement to Anthea and is about to rise when the older woman waves at her.

"I'll fetch her. Stay there." It's pleasant, Anthea's shift in attitude. There's still a sore spot deep down about Michelle and Tony, but time has all but totally healed that wound.

Effy stirs. "Ooh, I luurrrve Chelle," she taunts in a nasally voice obviously meant to badly impersonate Naomi. The older girl glances down at her lap, and Effy's face, and promptly slaps a hand over her mouth.

"Jesus, Effy. Hasn't anyone told you to talk far too much? Shut up once in a while, yeah?" She and Tony share a laugh at Effy's expense before he focuses again on the tree and all its necessary accoutrements. Her hand slides away from Effy's mouth and a grin takes its place. There's some chattering in the foyer before Michelle enters with a fuckload of baggage. Naomi and all the Stonems take her in curiously. She dumps one carrier bag on the coffee table and roots around in the other, pulling out 3 small gifts, pushing past Tony and placing them out of the way on the mat under the tree. They're the first presents to appear.

"My aunt insisted on bringing over some of our absolute mountain of cakes," she explains, mostly to Anthea as she pulls out plate upon tin of various baked goods. "Sort of a thank you for keeping me out of her hair this year," she jokes. Anthea's poking around the offerings with interest, pulling open tins and quietly oohing and ahhing at what she sees.

"These are lovely, Michelle," she says finally and seems to genuinely mean it.

Tony turns and chuckles. "I wouldn't touch those if I were you, mum. Not if Nips has helped with them. Probably make you ill." He's smiling.

"Oi, wanker," she protests and hugs a plate protectively to her chest.

He winks. "I'm just saying. You're shit in the kitchen."

"I am not, Tone! They're well delicious even if I did help out." He shrugs and grins wider at her defensiveness before plucking another ornament from the box.

With the requisite bickering out of the way, she places the plate down and Anthea's already plopped a small biscuit into her mouth with a hum of approval. Michelle moves to the sofa and perches on the armrest beside Naomi, running a hand through the blonde hair in some sort of hello. Naomi leans her head against the warm hip beside her. With a trail of crumbs following Anthea across the room, she's back to helping Tony out with the last of decorations, nattering amongst themselves about the empty spots that need filling. Effy's eyes are closed again and she's breathing steadily. If Naomi didn't know better she'd swear the girl was narcoleptic. But it's infectious maybe cos the way Michelle's slowly stroking through her hair is causing her own eyelids to feel heavy. Everything is so relaxed and the blonde feels that life, despite how it may try to convince you of the opposite, was actually pretty fucking perfect.

The doorbell going off again startles everyone, and even Effy jumps a little. For some reason, Naomi feels everybody's eyes on her for explanation, as if she's some psychic visitor-predictor. And then something must click in Tony's mind cos he breaks out in a grin again. "Ah, I know who that is." At his knowing tone, Effy pulls herself up, glaring suspiciously at his back as he heads towards the front door. She runs a hand through her hair to flatten it a bit from sleep. Anthea glances at her daughter who merely shrugs in response.

There is a lot of sound. Loud sound. Multiple people. Distinctive, familiar voices. Male, female and soon after a cacophony of boots are removed the visitors follow Tony into the lounge room.

"Merry merry!" comes an exuberant voice and Cook spreads his arms wide in some sort of celebration as twin girls follow in his wake, one rolling her eyes at him and the other smiling shyly. He immediately makes a beeline for Effy and scoops her up in his arms. "How're doin', princess?" he asks and kisses her cheek sloppily. The resulting smile on her face is sincere, an amazing feat to draw out of that enigma. He quickly moves to Naomi, takes her in a similar embrace. "Naomikins!" And then he takes Michelle's hand and graciously kisses it. "And the lovely Michelle. Fancy seeing you here."

When the hellos are finished, the man of the hour turns his attention to the older blonde woman. "Miss Stonem, I've missed you the most, babe." Naomi cringes in amusement at the greeting. "How's my leading lady holding up with all these youngsters?" Anthea for her part looks equally shocked and flattered, as if she's seeing a friendly ghost.

"Nice to see you, James."

Never one to be outdone, Tony pushes Emily and Katie forward towards his mother, taking the attention away from Cook. "This is Katie and Emily," he says, gesturing to each respectively. "Old mates of Effy and Naomi's, and now mine." Anthea mentions that it's good to see Katie looking so well, and shakes Emily's hand politely.

But then she pauses, her face crinkling in confusion. She scratches behind her ear absently. "Lovely... What exactly are you all doing here?"

"I invited them," Tony states, as if any other possibility is ridiculous. "They were supposed to bring Sid," he adds and pins Cook with a look.

Cook rolls his head in disbelief. "Ah come on, mate! I'm not a fucking taxi." Katie snickers beside him and Effy laughs. Tony however doesn't appear as pleased with the joke. Cook steps forward and slaps his shoulder. "Relax, man. He's parking somewhere." He shrugs dramatically and wanders over to the sofa, plops himself between herself and Effy, his arms stretched along the back of the cushions. King of the fucking castle and he's only been here 3 minutes. He pulls Effy against him, giving her a shake and ruffling her hair. She glares at him, smooths the mess but there's a small smile there. Katie watches with a surprising lack of jealousy. Naomi realises that she and Cook must really be happy. Emily, who as far as Naomi knows, has never actually met Anthea before hangs back behind Katie who's now chatting with the older woman. Naomi stands, interrupts the burgundy-haired twin briefly, giving her a hug in greeting before coming round to Emily and doing the same, and then taking her hand. She leads her over to the sofa and the redhead appears to be grateful for the removal from that awkward social situation.

"Hi, Emily," Michelle says, standing and adjusting her top. She reaches out and gives the younger girl a quick, polite hug. It's better than nothing. Naomi smiles gratefully at her girlfriend for the effort.

"Hi, Michelle." It's still tentative but it's nice. Naomi sees hope. To break the mild tension, Naomi pushes Emily down onto the sofa beside Cook and Effy and the boy laughs, yells "Emilio!" for no particular reason and pulls her into his little group embrace. The blonde watches them as a sprinkling of nostalgia threatens to build the beginning elements of tears. It only lasts a moment because Michelle's hand slips into hers and she squeezes in response. There is some thumping from the front corridor and suddenly a very wet looking Sid Jenkins marches into the sitting room and is met with Anthea's loud & shrill voice demanding he get back in the foyer and take off his boots and jacket. Naomi and Katie burst out into simultaneous fits of laughter at the drenched boy who looks like he fell in a pond somewhere along the way, whilst he looks thoroughly unhappy. Anthea's fussing over him and Tony is smirking at the commotion.

"Sid, you tit! What happened?" he calls over. He's only met with a response that is some sort of mumbled complaint about roadworks and puddles and "fucking London twats" as Anthea quickly runs to the kitchen with his soaked jacket to wring it out. Tony pats Sid on the back, gives the pathetic boy a once-over and motions upstairs. "Let's get you out of those wet clothes, yeah?" he suggests in the most ridiculous way possible. Katie makes a snorting sound as she watches the boys go upstairs.

Suddenly, they're alone. Their rag-tag group of misfits, or what's left of them, plus Michelle. No one speaks immediately and the irritating voice of Bing Crosby floats over top of the noise in the kitchen and the muffled arguments of the boys upstairs. It's Christmastime, and they're all together again, like people are supposed to do at this time of year but now, unlike before when it was just Naomi and the Stonems, it seems oddly formal. Forced, even. No doubt because of all the history or whatever, but it's bringing Naomi's holiday spirit down just a tad. She needs to do something cos, well, she's technically the hostess since Effy doesn't really speak much and none of the others live here. She points behind Katie.

"Have a seat, Katie," she prompts and the twin obliges easily and Naomi nudges Michelle towards the other. "Who wants some drinks?" she asks, putting on a happy face. There's a general murmur of agreement, and obviously overhearing them, Anthea calls from the kitchen that she'll take care of it all. Naomi shrugs and grins. That was easy, she thinks as she glances at Michelle, plonking herself right on the older girl's lap, and feels an arm slip around her warmly. There. Sorted. Everyone's sitting and now talking can commence.

That is, if anyone would actually say anything. Michelle, lovely _lovely_ Michelle, breaks the silence this time. "So, Cook," she says, as if calling him by his last name still feels off, "How'd you manage to get the time off. It's a busy season, yeah?" Ah, work-related small talk. Well, it's better than nothing.

"I make my own hours, don't I?" he says with a very self-satisfied grin. "Plus, yeah, your man there offered some nice dosh if we'd drag that sodding mopey bugger with us." He nods towards the ceiling.

And that's all it really takes: a few choice adjectives about Sid Jenkins and Katie is off yapping about how bloody emo he is and Emily reciting, in tandem with her and almost at verbatim, the entire roadtrip. By the time Anthea comes out with a tray of mimosas and sweets, the conversation is in full swing and it feels like home again. Eyes are sparkling, smiles are stretched and, best of all, Naomi feels comfortable wrapped in Michelle's arms with Emily in her presence, like wounds are finally healed and everyone is moving on. But not just moving on, moving  _forward_. When she exchanges a smile with her ex-girlfriend as Michelle, Katie and Cook are again in the midst of some fascinating hot topic discussion, she knows everything, at least for this moment, is perfect.

 

 

 

* * *

The afternoon and evening pass in a blur of drinks, laughs and memories. They catch up on Katie and Cook's adventures in hilariously mismatched coupledom, Sid's uselessness, and Emily's new girlfriend, or almost girlfriend as it stands. It's half 11 by the time Emily yawns unabashedly, in her adorable drunken way and Katie scoffs loudly, in her own, equally half-sauced way. The younger twin curls against the sofa cushions with a dopey smile on her face, and struggles to keep her eyes open. Effy's part way through chugging a lager down just like old times and Cook and Tony are hollering nonsense at her to keep it up. Beer splashes down her face and neck as she finishes it off. Katie grabs the empty can from the brunette's weak hold and tosses it on the floor. Oh, mother Katiekins. All the boys, and Effy, boo at her in jest but she pins Cook with a very pointed glare that silences him almost instantly.

"Ems is fucking falling asleep. We need to go home." It would be incredibly convincing if Katie didn't have a lisp that became far more pronounced the more she drinks. Cook waves her off dismissively and grabs another Carling for himself. "James!" Katie squeals again. Naomi has to hide her face in Michelle's shoulder at Katie's enunciation.

"Chill out, Katie," Tony pipes up. "Emily can have my bed." That may just be the most revolting yet amusing thing Naomi's heard all night and she makes no quiet show of her disdain, sliding to the floor at Michelle's feet in the process. Closer to the liquor, she reckons. Effy grins and giggles, falling into her brother who props her up with his non-drinking arm.

The thin brunette holds her new beer aloft. "And you can come in mine!" she says to Katie triumphantly, if slightly pissed. She waves her can at Katie's face as some sort of peace offering. "Both of you!" she adds and pokes Cook's cheek with her finger. It's always good to see Effy legitimately enjoying herself, and the company. The younger Stonem is only rewarded however with a very raised and well-arched eyebrow from the older twin. Sid shifts about on the floor.

"Oh and what about me, yeah?" he asks, still sober and petulant. His part of the deal with getting a lift to London was that he was the designated driver. No drink driving at Christmas was the rule, Cook said, as if it were acceptable at other times of the year.

Tony slides a bottle towards him, a sly smile sneaking around his lips. "Drink up, Sidney. You can share with Mum."

And so with a giant riotous wave of laugher, it's settled. (Though the sleeping arrangements do end up being altered in the end.) Naomi looks around at her friends, family perhaps as she gazes at Effy and Tony tickling each other until Effy rolls off the sofa, tumbles into the edge of the coffee table and succeeds in knocking over Sid's first drink right onto the sullen boy's trousers. It's fucking hilarious though and Effy and Cook both squeal with delight at Sid's continued misfortune. Emily's perked up with all the commotion (and Red Bull) and is bickering with Katie about the choice of liquor for the next round of shots, which is only broken by Katie turning to Effy mid-pour and shouting "Watch it, you manky drunk cow!" as Effy knocks the table once more with her knee as she attempts to sit up again. She's laughing too hard to really pay attention to Katie, and Naomi reckons it's kind of a term of endearment between them anyway.

Anthea comes down only once to cast a disapproving glance at Tony and the state his little sister is in, but miraculously she lets it slide. It's a sign. Effy's better. They're all better. Drunk, yeah. Still fucked up. But also better, even deep down.

Cook jumps up onto his feet, standing on the sofa and shouts "Tuuuuunnnee!" as Brenda Lee's "Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" comes on the radio and Michelle clambers off the armchair to crank the volume on the stereo. For some baffling reason, Effy and Tony see this as a signal to dance and they pull both Katie and Emily up to their feet. Cook's jumping on the sofa haphazardly, and even pouty Sid is shimmying about with Katie and Michelle. It's all very  _Home Alone_ , if those mannequins had been real people. Naomi just watches them all with the stupidest grin on her face.

Like most good things, the end comes far too soon and there is a chorus of "Aahh"s and "Nooo"s, until Tony stumbles over, fiddles with his iPod and suddenly there's a heavy 'whoomp whoomp' of techno music and Katie starts complaining before the melody kicks in. Effy hoots and throws her hands up in the air and the dancing resumes again, slightly differently than before. It's barely controlled mayhem now and Naomi's heart actually feels like it's going to break a little with the nostalgia. She's on her feet before the feeling can get too heavy and knocks back the last of her lager. She stumbles a little with the effort but Michelle's at her side, giving her a nudge of support and not soon after a very enthused kiss on the mouth. Tongue and everything.  _Tongue_. It makes her a little woozy for moment, in a good way, but she laughs quickly, passing it off. But Michelle can tell anyway and smirks at her. To shut her up, Naomi plants one on her again and manges to catch the older girl slightly off-guard with her impulsiveness.  _Nice_. Arms wrap loosely over her shoulders and around her neck as Michelle begins shuffling to the music again, and Naomi finds herself easily pulling her closer without a second thought, swaying slightly in response. It's relaxing, and right. But of course, it being Michelle, this nice moment doesn't last too long before her hips start gyrating a little more pronounced. Her and her fucking dirty dancing at any opportunity. Naomi's suddenly all too aware of every lithe movement in front of her and she groans very quietly, and presses her lips to the shell of Michelle's ear.

"You're terrible. Stop it," she whispers fiercely. "We've company." Both of them know Naomi doesn't quite mean it and the smile is obvious in her tone. When she looks up, Tony's got his eye on them with that familiar leer even whilst involved in an intense-looking conversation with Cook and Katie. He likely knows Michelle just as well as she does and often times that's distressing, but sometimes it's like they're part of some special club and they share knowing glances with each other. He finds amusement in things no one else would pick up on. This is one of those times and Naomi's fairly certain its because of her vague discomfort and not really anything else. Tony is a sucker for Schadenfreude. Michelle only giggles drunkenly in response to Naomi's request and amplifies her dancing. She likes this kind of attention on her, and being in the presence of her ex-boyfriend and Naomi's ex-girlfriend (and honestly frightening twin sister of that ex) seems not to matter in the least. It's Christmas after all, right? Love is all around and all that. Hopefully. When Naomi catches Emily's gaze, there's a moment of fear, doubt again until Emily grins and nods enthusiastically, before raising a shot in a toast to something. Things relax at that moment and Naomi's smile in response is completely and utterly genuine.

A bit later, when Michelle, Sid, Cook and Tony are having some sort of silly-looking dance off and Katie is talking with Effy, Emily comes to stand beside Naomi. It sparks a memory of the last time they did this, in Motion, that horrible night in Bristol. They're both just surveying the scene.

"You're all right?" Emily asks, sneaking a glance up at Naomi.

The blonde smiles and let's out a breathy laugh. "Yeah. Yeah I am." She pauses. "Don't know what the fuck I'm doing. It's serious, you know?" And it is. It's been months now and Naomi's never in her life been in a steady, consistent and good relationship like this. She had been with Emily longer, but it hadn't been healthy. This is different. "Bloody scary," she admits. "But, yeah. It's good. I'm good." She gazes down at her ex-girlfriend.

"Good."

Naomi cocks her head. "You? You okay?"

Emily stares out at the meagre crowd, sways a little and raises her cup to her lips, taking a sip. "Very," she says with a grin, tickling Naomi's fingers with her own until Naomi moves and grabs Emily in a tight embrace. The redhead wiggles a little to prevent Naomi's enthusiastic hug from choking her and laughs. Naomi doesn't let go however, not even a little bit and Emily resorts to snaking her arms around the body in front of her. The tender moment is brutally interrupted when a sloshed young Stonem grabs them both, her fingers digging in as she holds on too. Naomi lessens her headlock and pulls in Effy. There's silence between the three of them, heavy but patient, as if waiting for the exact moment when everything falls into place.

"Thank you," Naomi slurs, whether from the drink or from emotion, it's not clear. But it's sincere and she means it for them both. She's not daft. She knows Effy's orchestrations have been no small contributor her success with Michelle, especially those times when she looks at Effy and it's like there's a "thank you" of her own sparkling in her blue eyes. It's like they're finally even now. Tit for tat. In a sense, they've dragged each other out of darkness. And Emily, well, it's obvious where she comes in. Without both these girls, Naomi wouldn't  _feel_  as she does now. And it's fucking Christmas, yeah? Time to share joy and love and gratitude and that soppy bollocks. Effy breaks away first without a word and rejoins the others in taking more shots. As Naomi loosens her hold, Emily pulls back and chuckles.

"You get so emotional when you drink now," she laughs.

Naomi mock-sneers and shoves the twin away from her. "Ugh, shut up."

"No, it's nice," Emily breathes. "You've changed, you know." Brown eyes peer up at her, twinkling and amused.

The blonde raises a skeptical eyebrow in response, snorts and gazes at Michelle as she shot-guns a can of lager like one of the lads watching a football match.

"I mean, you're  _obviously_  still a twat, just a softer one."

Naomi shakes her head and smiles, elbowing Emily again. "And you're still a pest, just a slightly taller one."

Emily nods with a grin. "Yep, twat." She giggles at the playfully appalled look on Naomi's face and grabs her cup again, taking a sip leisurely. Naomi smiles too, and sighs, looking first at Emily, then at the crowd of people hovering around the coffee table with shots in their hands. Michelle looks up, over at the two of them before she catches her eye, and then she winks at her girlfriend with a mixture of both amusement and flirtatiousness. Yes, Naomi feels  _good_.

 

 

 

* * *

At 6:29 AM Christmas Day, Naomi Campbell is fast asleep, and gently spooning a thin brunette. Effy breathes steadily into her pillow and curls up around Pato a little more. It had been all she had asked for from Naomi for her gift. They had done this ages ago when Effy had just come home from hospital. She, Tony and Anthea had all taken turns because Effy's paranoia about being crept up on by a killer had caused consecutive sleepless nights for everyone in the flat and this had been a way to quiet the fear. Eventually Effy healed and no longer needed the extra comfort, but every now and then it was still nice. So that was her single request to Naomi. Just Christmas Eve. It worked out well since Gina was occupying her bed anyway. However, at exactly half 6 in the morning, Naomi's mobile vibrates loudly on the night table. She rolls over quickly to silence it, only to see a familiar name in the caller ID.

"Hullo?" she whispers groggily into her phone.

"Happy Christmas!" Michelle's voice sounds far too alert for this ungodly hour.

Naomi tries and fails to repress a yawn. "Chelle? It's not even daylight yet," she whispers adamantly.

"Happy Christmas to you too, Chelle," the other girl supplies in Naomi's place. She shifts about trying not to wake Effy. Her attempts must fail cos all she hears is a quiet "Go." come from the other side of the bed, and she smiles, places a quick kiss on Effy's temple and crawls out quickly and slips downstairs to speak slightly more freely. She pulls her legs up under her on the sofa after plugging in the fairy lights on the tree. It's lovely actually, the glow.

"What's going on?" Naomi finally asks, curious as to the nature of this still slightly unwelcome wake-up call.

The girl on the other end sounds out of breath, and tinny a bit like she's walking. Maybe she's wanking, Naomi thinks, and chuckles a little at the idea of Christmas morning phone sex at the crack of dawn. Then the thought really hits and she suddenly can't seem to focus on anything but the idea of Michelle touching herself, under a tree or some shit.

"Nothing." Yes, out of breath. Wanking. Holy fuck. "My aunt left last night to go on her mini-break early." Yep, home alone and everything. Then Naomi pauses.

"Wait, you're alone? You spent Christmas Eve alone?" Her heart that had previously been beating faster in anticipation of a little morning fun feels heavy now. She's alone on Christmas. "You should have called, you moppet. Could have stayed over here."

There's a sound of disbelief on the other end of the line. "Where? On the sofa?" She laughs. "Yeah, that's much better."

Naomi smiles even though she knows her girlfriend can't see it. "No, kick Tony out. Take his bed. Simple as."

"Right." She does sound out of breath; there's no mistaking it. Naomi yawns again, gathering her thoughts.

"Come over now." It's a demand that Naomi has no difficulty making. She's sure Anthea won't mind in the least and it will be good for her own mum to spend some time with Michelle too. She barely knows her really. Sure, it Christmas and the time for  _family_ , but fuck it, Chelle is as good as family now. In a totally non-relative sort of way, of course. She hears a small sigh come through the phone.

"It's cold out."

Naomi groans. As if she's been woken up for merely a chat. "What? Chelle, this is mental. Why did you ring so-?"

She's cut off before the question fully comes out. "Cos I didn't want to ring the bell and wake everyone, now did I?"

The words sink in quite quickly considering the time of the morning and Naomi's on her feet even faster. She pulls open the front door like she's expecting sodding Santa Claus and is met with a very cold looking girlfriend instead. She shakes her head in amused disbelief. Michelle had walked through the dark, in London, on Christmas morning all the way here. "Get inside, you stupid cow," Naomi chides in mock disdain. The moment the door closes, she's pressed up against the wall and met with a wet, warm kiss of thanks. She pulls Michelle's jacket from her shoulders with a smile and hangs it on a hook. "Let's go make a brew." Michelle drops her kit bag among the shoes in the hall and kicks off her UGGs, following behind Naomi, who busies herself instantly with filling the kettle. Michelle hovers in the doorway.

"I can't believe you made that whole walk in the night. You're actually mad, yeah?" She glances over at the brunette who's pulled her over-sized hoodie tight around herself. Her ridiculous penguin fleecy bottoms make Naomi smile. She actually came over in her pyjamas. How very uncharacteristic of pristine Michelle Richardson.

She shakes her head against Naomi's assertion. "No," she sighs. "Not mad. Just lonely." The blonde pins her hard with a stare. She knows that word. She knows the very important distinction between it and 'alone'. Lonely is so much worse. Naomi knew  _lonely_  all too well, and honestly hadn't felt very much of it since moving to London, and even less so since Michelle trampled down the stairs and into her life nearly 9 months ago. She knew being around other people wouldn't make you less lonely, just less alone. It was up to you to take care of the loneliness yourself. She twists the tap off, places the kettle in its stand and flicks the switch.

"Chelle..." she trails as she turns to look at her girlfriend again.

She's met with a reassuring smile. "It's fine, Nome." What's she's not saying is more important. 'I'm here now. I'm with you. I'm better.' Naomi's known about this ability of hers in the past but to have it so blatantly shown to her, the power her own presence can have, is both incredibly scary and even more fulfilling. Michelle shrugs then. "Besides, I wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, in person." With a smooth sweep oh her arms, that bulky jumper is over her head and falls to the floor. Naomi just stands and stares, mouth half-open, maybe. She's completely unaware of her own body at the moment.

Her reaction doesn't make sense in a way. She's seen Michelle naked more times now than she can even fathom to count. Would like to believe she knows every inch of skin. Maybe it's the suddenness. Maybe it's the odd-timing, the strange day, the Christmas tree glowing in the room behind her. Maybe it's the juxtaposition of all these things plus how sexy she's obviously not really trying to be. Naomi's gaze rakes downwards, top to bottom. From Michelle's straight hair, tied messily into a loose bun, tendrils slipping out, her fringe casual, then down to the thin, white vest top that is obviously at least 2 sizes too small and rides up above her belly button. And then finally, those fucking pyjamas with their skiing cartoon penguins that hang low off her hips, and it's all very contradictory. And the worst or best part (Naomi can't decide which) is the bitch isn't even wearing a sodding bra. And, yeah, it's chilly in the kitchen this early in the winter morning.

"Jesus." It's the only word that she seems capable of forming. It's far too much to process at this time of day. Michelle peers at her from half-lidded eyes and it's only making matters worse. But Naomi knows; knows Michelle is like this, knows what she's doing. She feeds on people's reactions to her; it makes her feel good to feel wanted. And really, who doesn't like to feel that way? It's times like these however that its a bit like a double-edged sword because Naomi doesn't think it's really necessary; she doubts herself and how much she's put into the relationship. Cascades of self-doubt fall upon her despite how much Michelle takes her breath away. Michelle should know,  _does_  know, doesn't she? She doesn't  _need_  to do this. Maybe it's just for reaffirmation. Naomi forgets about the kettle and the tea and whatever else and steps quickly to her girlfriend, who probably could wear dogshit and still be sexy.

She doesn't kiss her, not immediately. She leans closer to her ear instead. "How about for my gift, you put on your jumper when everyone else comes downstairs, yeah?" She can't stop her hands from sliding over exposed skin around her waist. Michelle is surprisingly warm for having been out in a December night for at least a half hour.

"Yeah, why's that?"

Naomi chuckles and sweeps her palms up over barely covered tits, tweaking a nipple through the thin fabric. She hears a sharp intake of breath in response. Point made. "People like Tony, they see this but they don't see the whole thing like I do. Too distracted." Really, Naomi doesn't like sharing what's hers. She's an only child, stubborn, spoilt and needy deep down. And so is Chelle. Thoughts flicker to Emily, the only other serious relationship in her life and how there was always that struggle and she never felt she really had Emily to herself. Not ever, honestly. Michelle's different, and not just because she doesn't have an overbearing twin sister and perfect family. She doesn't like sharing any more than Naomi does and when she plays these games? Tricks perhaps, to keep Naomi there and aware, fucking hell does it work. Funny thing is Naomi's also aware of the tricks herself, and it doesn't bother her. Greediness. Neediness. It all sounds so depressing and awful when formulated into words. It doesn't feel that way though.

"You don't have to do this you know," Naomi says finally as she drags her lips along the soft, pliant and easily bruised skin of the other girl's neck, leaving her mark with a lovebite that makes Michelle's shoulders lurch for a moment. Naomi's hit with Effy's words from early last summer.  _You should tell her. Tell her._  Naomi knows she doesn't tell her, not nearly enough cos it's just not who she is. Never will be. But it's Christmas and Michelle's presented herself like a gift just waiting to be unwrapped with her tongue. "I  _already_  love you. This. Everything. I already want you." She feels two hands grip her cheeks and lips meet her own now. It's so fucking languid and fluid and just pulsates with force. She always forgets Michelle needs to hear the words sometimes.

"Really?" she asks when Naomi pulls away and the question is downright absurd. The blonde scoffs in disbelief.

"If I had a cock, trust me, I'd already be sodding ballsdeep inside you." It's certainly not the most romantic thing she's ever said, but it's possibly one of the truest. In fact, she's pretty bloody lucky to even get away with saying shit like that to her girlfriend.

Michelle raises an eyebrow. "So why aren't you?"

Naomi smirks and sees it mirrored in the brunette's face as well. Without thinking, they've stumbled onto the sofa, lips crashing and Naomi tugging at the blue ribbon holding those goofy penguin bottoms up. There's one thing she's learnt about Michelle: she bases some sense of self-worth on how much she appeals to others, physically, sexually; she throws herself into things in this crude, abrupt way for attention, for love... but when she gives her body in this way, she is really giving you her soul to hold onto for a moment, maybe forever. It's the most fragile thing she owns. Tony, and any number of other insufferable boyfriends, hadn't even noticed this offering. It was carnal, passionate sure. But the trust not to break that soul, to take care of it, was never appreciated. Naomi knows what it's like to offer that to someone, romantically or platonicly, and have it broken, or have them steal it away like it was theirs to begin with anyway. She's careful now, both with her own and with others'. Especially Michelle's that had been so fractured and taken advantage of.

She knows she has Michelle's ultimate gift:  _trust_. She'd been given that once before, and smashed it to pieces out of fear. It had been too much responsibility, too much belief in her. Too much meaning. And she's learnt from that. It's like gluing a crystal vase back together. It's possible to fix it somewhat but the cracks are there forever. It's never as strong again. This is a new vase, a new trust. She doesn't want to drop it.

And, in handing this over, Michelle had freed herself. It allowed her to receive love, understand it rather than just give it away wishfully and hopelessly on the whim of a charming boy. Far gone is what Tony had so crassly recounted, those tales of Michelle's inability to let go. Shutting her up is the harder part now. Sure, sometimes they still just fuck, plain and simple, but sometimes it's more. Naomi's not so fearful of  _meaning_  anymore. She's moving three fingers deep inside Michelle, in sure and knowing strokes whilst laying heavy kisses along the brunette's throat, her mouth. There's a point where Naomi has to seal their mouths together, and bites gently on Michelle's bottom lip. It's a small warning. The last thing Naomi wants to do is wake up the entire household. The front room doesn't have door. They don't have much leeway for noise. It's all a little for naught however because she knows her girlfriend is close already. She moves her thumb a little more insistently against the sensitive nub and suddenly Michelle is gasping almost silently; her legs clenching closer together. Even as Michelle's not quite finished cooling down, Naomi's ignoring her own want and already pulling up her girlfriend's trousers, just in case someone comes down. The absolute last thing she wants for Christmas is Tony Stonem to see them. Or her bloody mum. The brunette grins slyly as she ties up the ribbon.

"Don't get too comfortable," she slurs and before Naomi has a real chance to interpret the remark, she finds herself flipped onto her back, right where Michelle had just been. Hazel eyes stare down at her in a predatory way. "Merry Christmas, Nome."

If she had had the sense to object, or even the desire to, she's not sure she would have. Her own pj bottoms disappear somewhere, and one leg is over a shoulder. Michelle's tongue is already swirling purposefully through Naomi's folds, and Jesus Christ, is it the best Christmas morning ever. She spreads further and savours the feeling and tries her best not moan out loud. It's not as if this is an uncommon occurrence but just everything about the last few days has ended up perfectly and this is like the icing on top of more icing on top of a multi-layered cake. And the way Michelle's licking her out, she may as well be a wedding cake with double frosting. Her hips buck and grind and she clenches her mouth shut tightly, using the remaining vestiges of restraint she has. But she's not really sure what to make of it because she's coming in Michelle's mouth well before any real, substantial thoughts can pass through her completely mushy brain. She's literally gulping for breath and Michelle shimmies up her body, looking very happy with herself. Naomi takes a deep, long breath, grabs her trousers and pulls them up and falls back down exhaustedly onto the sofa, pressed close.

"Still want tea?" she breathes out.

Michelle shakes her head and curls around Naomi. "Nope, all warmed up now," she mutters into the curve of the blonde's neck. Naomi sighs, pulls the blanket over them and fights the urge to fall asleep.

She doesn't succeed.

 

 

 

* * *

The smell of coffee wafts through the ground floor of the Stonems' flat, causing Michelle to stir with curiousity. Naomi follows soon after and blinks slowly, adjusting to the light in the room, from both the Christmas tree lights and the sun which is shining in through the kitchen windows. Anthea's bustling about, preparing a plate of snacks and a huge pot of coffee. She wanders in and places the sweets down on the small table and smiles at the girls on the sofa. Naomi rubs her eyes.

"Happy Christmas, girls," she grins. "Michelle. Nice surprise, isn't it, Naomi?" She winks at the blonde and she can feel her cheeks redden. That wink likely doesn't mean what she thinks it does, but all the same, just thinking about how good a surprise it was is enough.

"You too, Anthea," Michelle says with a smile of her own. "Hope you don't mind. My aunt's gone to Brighton."

Anthea gives her a dismissive wave. "Of course it's fine. It's Christmastime." She straightens up a few of the loose biscuits. "Any time now Tony and Effy'll be down." And then she's disappeared back into the kitchen to check on the coffee. The girls untangle their limbs and Naomi reaches down and tosses Michelle her jumper. The brunette smirks before pulling it on, and flipping back the blanket. Not long after, there's another pair of feet padding down the stairs and Gina makes her grand Christmas entrance looking like she desperately needs that coffee.

"Morning, mum. Merry Christmas," Naomi laughs and takes a bite out of a piece of shortbread. Gina grimaces mildly, and shakes her head.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart." Then she sees Michelle perched next to her daughter, in pjs as well. "Oh, Michelle. Lovely to see you again." She manages to break her morning funk for Naomi's girlfriend's sake at least.

"You too, Miss Campbell," Michelle responds with her typical, saccharine "meet the parents" smile. It's really only like the 3rd time they'll be spending any sort of time together and Naomi is secretly slightly nervous. Gina adored Emily, and after all the ruckus in Bristol, she hopes that her mum does an Anthea and comes round to the whole idea.

And so it happens, actually. By the time everyone is gathered around the plastic and peculiar botanical symbol of Christmas giving, and unwrapping various bits and bobs, Gina is smiling, happy even in the face of such a (to her) disagreeable tradition. Naomi hadn't asked for anything from her mum, but when she sees Gina and Michelle chatting about some trinket that Tony had bought for the older woman (such a thoughtful boy) she's certain  _that_ 's her gift. And to be fair, it's not as if Gina is a rude or judgemental person even on the worst of days, so obviously she'd like Michelle. Eventually. It's just that it's happened quickly and so painlessly that Naomi often has to ask herself if she's actually in reality. Nothing gold can stay and all that. When her mum rises to go fetch some more tea from the kitchen, Naomi follows right behind her. She leans against the cupboards as her mum gets to work procuring some breakfast tea from the shelf. She smiles sideways at her daughter.

"All right, love? Brew?" Michelle and Tony's voices tinkle with laughter over top the bustle in the other room. Naomi shakes her head.

"I'm fine, mum." She feels fine, definitely. That's about the only thing that feels weird. "I'm glad you came."

Gina laughs, setting the teapot down. "Couldn't have you traipsing back to Bristol this year and interrupting your studies, could I? Plus, I'm starting to enjoy these little  _gatherings_." She offers Naomi a genuine smile, and the younger girl is fairly sure part of her mother's pleasure is in Anthea's company. She can't remember the last time her mum's had a real friend, like one that isn't into hot yoga, incense and ecstasy. Anthea, while not exactly resembling normal, is the closest thing to it. Their histories are similar. Hell, they even share the same brand of hair bleach. Gina pulls out four mugs. She pauses midway between reaching for the teapot and focuses on her daughter. "Michelle is– Are you happy?" Point blank she fires the question Naomi knew had been coming for a few days now.

Chewing her bottom lip, Naomi bows her head away from her mother's insistent gaze. She can't pull back the small smile though and when she looks up at her expectant mum, it's obvious. "Yeah, mum."

"Good. That's very good." Naomi narrows her eyes, trying to decipher what's really being said here. "Are you sure?" There it is. Her mother had never much cared for tricks and liars.

"Yes!" Maybe some emphasis will help get the point across but Gina still appears sceptical. "I'm in  _love_ , okay? Can we just drop it?" Her cheeks flush quite heatedly with the admission anyway. The younger blonde has never been very fond of talking about feelings straight up, especially with her own mother. It always turns into some deep, metaphorical or spiritual discussion and right now she's certain she actually doesn't need convincing or encouragement towards any particular goal. She's already there.

Gina's lips purse and she nods curtly. "Okay. Because I can see Michelle there is in love with you, for some incomprehensible reason," she says with a smirk. "And she seems... quite easy to hurt."

"Mum, I get it."

"Okay, okay," Gina says in a placating, hushed tone and reaches out to pull her daughter into her arms, brushing her fringe back from her face in the process. "I'm just making sure I didn't raise a perpetual heartbreaker, is all."

Of course she'd have to bring up Emily. Naomi stiffens noticeably in response and Gina gives her a friendly shake. "Don't be like that, sweetheart. I'm only your concerned old mum being nosy." She lets Naomi wriggle out of the embrace and chuckles. "Really, Naomi."

There's a shrug from her daughter. "You don't need to worry. I'm not trying to set any records."

Gina leans in and places a soft kiss on Naomi's forehead. "That's my girl." She pats her head and returns to pouring the tea.

Anthea appears suddenly in the doorway. "Everything all right?" Gina nods and holds out two mug of steaming tea which Anthea takes with a grateful smile.

"We're all lovely, thanks, Anthea," she says, and takes the remaining mugs out to the lounge.

Naomi hesitates, hovering on the edge of the room. Gina hands a mug to Effy, as Anthea does to Tony. They're laughing, chatting and it strangles Naomi's heart for a moment. This is what a family looks like. She hadn't really known one for so long that it had been almost forgotten amongst the rubble of her parents' divorce, and her own troublesome young adulthood. Now, she feels like she has not one, but two, because just as she'd felt with her friends a few nights ago, she feels again. Like there are wires linking everyone to each other, with indestructible types of materials. The sorts of chains that you lock yourself to voluntarily knowing there's no escape. She sees Effy laugh, a big, wide sound, triggered by something Tony's said. And Anthea's eyes reflect that joy too. And there's her own mum pulling a dopey Santa hat over Tony's large head, flicking the pom-pom into his face. And Michelle... she's not there. Naomi's heart leaps into her throat briefly, in fear. Out of habit, really. Used to being left behind. But she needn't have worried. The brunette, in her stupid penguin pyjamas, materializes at her side, a soft hand sliding down her arm until their fingers twirl and intertwine. She glances at their joined hands briefly before back at the Christmas scene in front of her. Effy looks up, her blue eyes bright and meets Naomi's gaze across the room. She quirks her lips, lifts an eyebrow.

_I told you so_ , she says without a sound.

Right again, Effy Stonem. It did turn out okay. Naomi winks back, and huffs out an amused sigh before pulling her girlfriend back over to the sofa to join the rest of the family. Tony, always the catalyst, tosses a small box in her direction with some slightly rude demand to open it immediately. Anthea starts to hush him up about telling people what to do but Naomi's not really listening. Michelle pulls up her legs and leans in, whispers in her her ear. "It's from me."

Expectation is written across Michelle's face as she watches every movement. Naomi pulls off the wrapping, knowing that whatever is inside the box doesn't really matter. She doesn't need it because she has this morning, this moment. When her heart beats, she can feel the echo again reverberating around her, bouncing back from the soul beside her. In sync. In their own dance. She plucks the box open still, peers inside, pauses as everything settles into place and just smiles.

The echo is louder than ever.

 

 

 

\----

" _Our echoes roll from soul to soul, And grow forever and forever."  
Lord Alfred Tennyson, Princess (IV, Bugle Song)_

**Author's Note:**

> These are just some supplementary notes I made in case you're dead curious about some of the references being made. Likely no one is, but I figured I may as well do this up. It's only right to give credit to quotes and such.
> 
> Notes:
> 
> \- The documentary film Tony and Michelle are watching is Sharkwater. It's completely personal choice but I thought its meaning (beyond the literal) fit well with Tony, and to some degree Michelle, as well. A fierce, beautiful and misunderstood creature persecuted unjustly. Also, you know, sharks, white whales, etc...
> 
> \- The book that Naomi is reading during revision is Public Morality and Liberal Society: Essays on Decency, Law, and Pornography by Harry M. Clor. 
> 
> \- Tony refers to Effy as Starbuck and Naomi as Ishmael, and Naomi herself addresses Tony as Ahab. I'm sure most people have read Herman Melville's Moby Dick. Ahab is the captain of the ship –-a tragic hero, and Starbuck is his first mate. Ishmael is a sailor as well, and the narrator of the story. If you're not familiar with what each of these characters represents, check out a condensed summary on Wikipedia or the links I've provided on my LJ (since ff.net doesn't allow links! Arg!). 
> 
> \- The book that Tony is reading at the supper table is On the Genealogy of Morals by Friedrich Nietzsche, one of Tony's admitted interests in canon. I find it very fitting for Tony and it is incidentally one of my favourite works by Nietzsche.
> 
> \- In his conversation with Naomi, Tony quotes Lady Macbeth from Shakespeare's Macbeth (Act 1, scene 7). It is a scene where Lady Macbeth is trying to coax Macbeth into action. We all know Tony has a penchant for quoting Shakespearean plays.
> 
> \- When Tony barges into Naomi's room just before the funeral, he quotes Friedrich Nietzsche again, from Thus Spoke Zarathustra: A Book for All and None this time. It's the same book he's reading in 1x05 on the bench on the College Green.
> 
> \- I feel too I just have to make a quick note about one of the underlying issues that was a recurrent theme (at least in the earlier part of the story): Michelle's sexual (dys)function. Just to make it clear, there are multiple references to this in the programme itself (from Michelle herself and then from Sid, I believe on two separate occasions – though his were more in the vein of the quality of the sex). Without going into a lot of detail, some quick reading about FSAD and anorgasmia cos I think it's actually a subject that is quite pervasive in the story and very in tune with the events of S1 and 2, as well. I didn't want to address anything specifically in the narrative but it is tightly although subtly tied into the whole arc. There's also a much more philosophical slant to all this, and the chapter 'The Ravished Bride' in Marion Woodman's Addiction To Perfection: The Still Ravished Bride rings so clearly true in terms of Michelle. It's a text you need to read in its entirety to really understand where I'm coming from with this, but really, there is so much here that is much like Michelle, and even Naomi to an extent as well, since I think, while physically speaking their issues are not the same, psychologically both Naomi & Michelle's issues can be drawn from the same general source and often emerge in a similar pattern (of relationships, and the issues with them). I don't have space here to put in all the quotes, but I do list them on my ff.net copy of this story, and on my LJ. There's also a very subtle exploration of the role trust plays in reaching love in that book as well. Which I think is pretty common sense.
> 
> "She has nature's raw power, and that she will protect from ravishment: if it is penetrated, her experience is earth-shattering because she is separated from her unconscious grounding. Such a woman must make the journey down through her undifferentiated identification with matter, recognise her individuality and separate."
> 
> "Like the psyche, the body has lived its life holding on. Now the holding becomes conscious and manifests in pain. As loving mother to her own body, the woman can allow it to relax into her own love. Strong lesbian feelings often emerge because the feminine body needs the love of a woman in order to accept itself. Sometimes that need has to be projected in order for it to be recognised, in which case a lesbian relationship may happen […] Physical cherishing by a woman, whether sexual or platonic, gives the feminine ego the grounding it requires."
> 
> "If, for example, a woman is genuinely in her body so that spirit and matter are one, she cannot separate her sexuality from her love."


End file.
